


Flowers of the Far Shore

by sannlykke



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Childhood Friends, Edo Period, Established AoKise, Feels, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Other, Reincarnation, if you squint most everyone appears at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together they escape, a pair of simple country boys fleeing into the city for a new start. But when Kise "disappears" during the journey, Aomine must come to terms with the secrets both have been hiding from each other for far too long. </p><p>It just so happens that Kagami, a young scholar returning from his studies in Nagasaki, runs into them that very night. And he hears everything, including a voice that triggers memories he had long repressed.</p><p>And finally, the hell - literally and figuratively - both go through to bring back what they lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aomine I

**Author's Note:**

> The self-indulgent Edo period fantasy nobody asked for. [This picture](http://41.media.tumblr.com/42bfb2485f4e1382d75ff849b59be791/tumblr_n2s8jtQ9oe1sl9ca3o1_500.jpg) pretty much inspired everything.
> 
> Expect lots of flashbacks, references to Japanese mythology as well as some religious themes, etc. ~~This really different from the stuff I usually write,~~ (this is a lie now that i look back at it lmao) so here's to hoping it pulls through okay - and the next chapter _should_ be longer...sobs.

He runs, but to where, he does not know—

The path winds down the hill into a mist so thick it seems to seize him by the throat, forcing the air out of him. Of course, perhaps it is meant to be that way, since this is not a place he should be—not anymore.

A branch lashes out at his face, drawing blood, as he stumbles and regains his balance. They had told him all those years ago, didn’t they, _don’t go near that house, those ruins at the edge of the road. Don’t go near that boy_. And when had he listened, truly?

He could hear those voices now, following him in the wind. It is no use trying to shake himself of them, he thinks, as he leaps over a rock, the sound of flowing water clearer than ever in his ear.

Then, a sharp crack.

“ _Aomine!_ ”

 

* * *

 

**_Three days ago_ **

 

“Aw, _really_?”

The path through the forest was worn down from years of travelers’ trampling, but it was still clearly not large enough for a carriage to pass through. Small it might be, but it was also the fastest path to the main road that would take them to the city. Them being the owners of the two arguing voices coming up the hill.

“I _knew_ there was something funny about that old man…” The taller one of them kicked at a nearby pebble, watching it fly off into the undergrowth. He ran a hand through his dark blue hair, clearly annoyed. “We should head back there.”

“We’ve already been walking for _hours_ , Daicchi,” the blond one whined, walking a few steps behind. “It’s going to be sundown soon, anyway.”

“Ryouta, you _know_ that guy would be miles away with all of our money by the time we wake up tomorrow.”

“Not all of it!” Kise Ryouta pointed at his partner’s satchel, grinning. “ _You_ didn’t get robbed.”

“…” It was no use arguing with that face, Aomine Daiki knew. And Kise was right—the sun was ahead of them them now, sinking fast. They hadn’t made as much progress as they would’ve liked, but neither was one to plan ahead. Kyoto was still at least three weeks’ journey from where they were; turning back now would risk too much. He silently hoped it was not too much to ask for there to appear an inn up ahead, a _cheap_ one. 

It was then when Daiki felt a hand steal into his, Kise’s soft touch reassuring against his callouses. They had been on the road for the better part of the week, making their way slowly west towards the capital. For a pair of village boys who had never seen anything bigger than their local temple until now, the journey had already proven their naiveté in terms of worldly things. Most of all by the times they had run into trouble - which usually ended up in Daiki beating someone up, and then making a run for it as authorities were not too keen on these outsiders. They had gotten better at it over time, but well, here they were.

"Old man did say there'd be a village up ahead..."

Despite an initial reluctance to believe the words of someone who’d just run off with a large portion of their money, Daiki resigned himself to internal grumbles when he saw that the road _was_ widening ahead of them. Soon it had a wide enough berth to take on an actual wagon, something that he was sure both of them wished they were sitting on at the moment. 

Presently the forest cleared up before them, revealing rice paddies and wooden poles staked along the side of the road. A cluster of about twenty wooden houses, huddled tightly together, sat ahead of them. It was a tiny village, one of the smallest they've yet to come across. Daiki resigned himself to the fact that they would probably be sleeping in a barn again. _He_ had no problem sleeping anywhere, but Kise would probably find excuse to whine at him again. 

It wouldn’t be without precedent (the last inn they stayed at positively _reeked_ of fish despite being a good distance from the coast, and Daiki wasn’t completely convinced they’d gotten rid of the smell on them yet) but anything was better than sleeping in a bush. Though at least the bushes wouldn’t ask them personal questions. He turned towards Kise. “Hey, do you think—“

“Mm?” He was unconsciously swinging his arm again, only stopping at the sound of Daiki’s voice.

“—We should stop doing this.” He let go somewhat unwillingly, as forms started to emerge from the buildings. _Before they see us._ Kise pouted a little, but straightened up and started working on his best smile. That was his greatest asset, Daiki thought, almost giving in to the thought of reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair away. But by that point they were already on the village borders. A woman and her children, or so Daiki assumed, came towards them somewhat warily. He was also going to assume lone pairs of young men, even if one of them did happen to be wearing the—admittedly borrowed— _jōe_ of a priest, did not regularly pass through this village.

“Hey there,” Kise said, easygoing as always, to the small girl holding a wooden bucket. He bent down, showing blindingly white teeth as he spoke. “You wouldn’t know of an inn nearby, would you?”

The woman gestured towards the houses behind her, keeping her eyes on the two strangers. “No such luck for you two. Pilgrims?”

“Of sorts.” The little girl seemed transfixed, and Daiki reminded himself to punch Kise later for turning on his sparkle around children. He did not want them to remember two particular strangers walking down this road—they would be two strangers just like any other. He tugged at Kise’s sleeve. “We have money. We can sleep anywhere—“

Somehow, unlike most villagers they’d previously met, the woman’s eyes didn’t light up at the mention of money. Instead her eyes flitted to Daiki’s side, where a sword hung. “Sorry, there isn’t anywhere you can stay. Our houses are crowded enough as is.”

That at least was true, judging from the feeling Daiki got. The village was watching them, all through shuttered windows. He did not like it one bit, but there was little left for them to try.

“Say, not even if an esteemed priest were to bless your harvest?”

Kise snickered beside him, and Daiki took it as an opportunity to jab him in the side. The woman did not seem amused, but a pensive look had taken over her face. “Well, there _is_ an abandoned temple half a _ri_  down the road, but…”

“Wait,” Daiki cut in. “Abandoned? As in there might be—”

“Aominecchi, who cares if there are ghosts in it?” _You’re supposed to be good at exorcising them after all_ , was the part Kise conveniently left out. He wrinkled his nose. “It beats sleeping in a bush.”

He had to concede. “You’re cleaning it up, then.”

Kise gave his shoulder a quick pat, then smiled at the woman serenely. “Thank you, miss!”

But she was already leading the children back inside, the little girl still throwing looks at them in wonder. The two looked at each other; Daiki shrugged, motioning for them to continue. _There’s something wrong_ tugged at his mind _,_ but that he did not voice. The sun was already on the horizon, flooding the land with reds and golds, and he held up a hand to shield his eyes from the last glare. 

Once they walked past the wooden fence, Kise stepped closer to him, almost furtively. “They were whispering about us.”

“Mm?”

“Nevermind,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, footsteps quickening. “Let’s get out of here, this place is creepy.”

“And you still want to sleep in a _haunted temple_.”

Kise’s golden eyes narrowed. “It’s not like we have a choice. I’m not sleeping in a bush just because _you’re_ scared of ghosts.”

“‘m not afraid,” Daiki muttered. Fortune had it that they’d run into noticeably fewer supernatural creatures than expected, and what _had_ come at them had been fairly easy for him to dispatch. Boring as it were, maybe it was better, as Satsuki had warned him, to save the big guns until they’d safely reached the capital. Instinctively he brushed at the side of his robes, reassuring himself that what she’d given him was still there. Though, knowing himself, it would be a lie to say he there were things he didn’t want to try. “Even if there were, they’d run if they see me. You, however…”

“And would you save me then, onmyouji- _sama_?” Kise teased, but his voice was softer now, and Daiki took the opportunity to steal a hand into his again. “I can handle ghosts just fine.”

“Fine my ass,” Daiki snorted. “Learn to fight _people_ better first, idiot.”

The last traces of sunlight disappeared as they saw the top of the temple peek up from the top of the gently sloping hill. Upon closer inspection it was not quite as run-down as he’d expected; the roof was still intact, as were most of the walls save the rotting hole in the southwest corner. Weeds grew tall around and between the broken torii and courtyard, the red paint chipped so badly that the place looked more haunted than it had any right to be. _Aren’t places like these supposed to be warded from ghosts, anyhow?_ Daiki concentrated on the sealed doors, the shuttered windows, the way Kise’s fingers were tightening around his, their tired breathing silenced by the breeze. There were no strangers here but them.

Together they pried open the front doors, and a cloud of dust came billowing right into their faces. As he listened to Kise sneeze up a storm beside him, Daiki could smell the mold inside, dank but fortunately not overpowering. He could not see a single thing.

“Eeh, there should be somewhere in there we can lie on, right?” Kise wondered, his voice a tad nervous. 

“Well, we aren’t going to—“ Something moved in the wind, and Daiki’s eyes flickered to the rusted torch-holder next to the doorframe, half a stick still stuck in it. “Hey, make some fire.”

“ _What?_ ” Kise looked at him, then at the torch. “How am I supposed to make _fire_ out of nothing?“

“Didn’t you have flint in your bag?” A minute later Kise was furiously searching through said bag, but the puppy-eyed look he threw at Daiki made him raise an eyebrow. 

“…Um, I think it dropped out when that guy stole our money.”

“You're ridiculous.” He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing and way too tired to argue. “Hold on then, I’m not picking up after you if you fall.”

Maybe he _was_ expecting ghosts to pop up, the floorboards to creak and crumble beneath his feet, for Kise to scream and cling to him for dear life. But none of that happened, and it was with relief when they managed to locate the door to the monks’ quarters on the other side of the room. By then the sky had cleared enough to allow soft moonlight to filter in through the cracks of the boarded windows, illuminating the outline of the room just enough for them to navigate. 

Kise picked up a piece of cloth gingerly, watching it crumble into dust between his fingers. “I don’t like the feeling of this place.”

Daiki did not bother to tell him off again that _he_ was the one wanting to stay here. Instead, he set his satchel down on one of the crude beds. “Stay here.”

He was out through the door again before Kise could say a word.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea for either of them to be left alone. This was the first time during this trip that they were staying in a place a ways from any semblance of civilization. And the village they passed through today…

“What was up with that, anyway?” He wondered out loud to the dark, empty hall. It was moments like these when he wished being an onmyouji involved something more exciting than predicting weather patterns, sitting through too many monotonous lectures about form and technique and only very occasional instances of _actually_ exorcising demons under a watchful eye. If only his father knew what he could do outside of the classroom. Satsuki had stuffed a book into his belongings before they’d left, telling him to study them closely on the road, but those he hadn’t so much as touched yet. Perhaps if he’d spent more time on those instead of playing truant…well, it didn’t matter now, did it. Daiki glanced up at the empty altar; it was too dark to see those names of whatever _kami_ or buddha this place used to hold. “Sorry ‘bout this.”

One, two, three. He slapped the ofuda onto the front door, _their_ door, and then some, murmuring spells as he went. Daiki could hear Satsuki’s disapproving voice in the back of his head at the amount he was using. He waved that voice away, 

When he returned to the room Daiki was surprised to see a small fire had been lit, in an oil lamp by the side of the room. Kise looked up at him, startled, his face melting into apology as he stood up quickly. “I, um.”

“You just wanted an excuse, didn’t you?” He grabbed Kise’s arm and sat him down, pushing their things aside. The bag, half-open, threatened to tip over, but Daiki swooped it up at the very last moment and set it on the table beside them. Kise buried his face into Daiki’s neck, and he could smell the slightest scent of incense in his hair. Lazily he swept a stray strand of blond from Kise’s face, the other hand reaching towards the small of his back. “Could’ve just said so.”

“Daiki…” Kise’s voice was soft as he leaned back, the flickering flame reflected strangely bright in his eyes. If Daiki hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the blond was about to cry. “I want y—“

The sound of whinnying horses, though still a distance away, cut him off. They looked at each other, startled. Kise was the one to move first, finding a crack just big enough for him to look out of. Daiki followed, though the thundering of hooves, coming straight for the temple, rendered that unnecessary. Shadows sailed across the cracks of the wall as both of them sat up straight. Daiki reached over and extinguished the flame while Kise watched, frozen in place. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” A loud bang came from the front of the temple; the doors had been kicked open. Voices, three or four of them, echoed throughout the entrance hall, and Daiki could see dim firelight from the cracks in the door. Kise stood up, scrabbling for something—the glint of metal inside his bag caught Daiki's eye, as his earlier words came hurling back into his face. He could hear everything, his own breathing, Kise's arms shaking, and then...

_No._

Daiki grabbed at his katana, mouth set to a grim line. “Not ghosts, that’s for sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jōe: "Pure cloth", a garment worn by clergy and laymen alike for religious purposes.
> 
> A _ri_ equals ~2.4 miles, 3.9 km or 0.7 leagues.


	2. Kagami I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing, it seems, goes well for Kagami Taiga on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory **warning for mentions of blood, violence, and character death** near the end of this chapter, as well as mentions of vomiting. It's not a lot, but if it becomes routine (I hope not, but this will carry over into chapter three) I will change the warnings on the fic itself.

Kagami Taiga was tired, and his horse wasn’t giving him any hope for respite.

Horses were marginally worse than carriages, but at least both were marginally better than boats—he could still remember the sickly smell of vomit and rotten fish during that long, _long_ ride from Nagasaki to Edo. Having the whole trip paid for was a small measure of comfort that he had in the few minutes each day when his stomach was not churning along to the waves.

“Easy,” he told the horse, trying not to think of _that_ particular journey. Although why his father would’ve sent for him from Kyoto only a day after he’d reached home was another question altogether. Taiga had dillydallied for a week at home before feeling sufficiently rested to go—besides, staying still was not for him. If the servants thought it was a wonder he’d lasted this long in school, laboring extensively for a position that was apparent he didn’t want…well.

It wasn’t as if Taiga was always in his room with _books_ when he shut those doors. 

As if reading his thoughts, the horse whinnied again, this time bucking him gently before regaining his pace. Taiga grabbed onto the reins tightly to avoid being thrown off, muttering. At least nothing in his bags had fallen, and he’d brought a _lot_ of things. Maybe it’d been a bad idea to run off on his own instead of with a retinue like his father suggested.

“Maji, what the hell is up with you?” Alex had given him Maji as a parting gift, laughing in that peculiar stilted Japanese of hers that they were one and the same. A fine horse he was, but his temper was as if he had never been gelded. Taiga patted his silky black mane awkwardly, his attention turned to the dying lights of the town up ahead. Evening was upon them quick, and he wanted to make haste in case all the inns were full. Seirin, where he would make a pit stop, was still a day’s journey away, and Taiga was sure he did not want to ride by night.  “Come on now.”

As it turned out, his fears weren’t unfounded.

“What do you mean full?” The innkeeper nodded, a tad fearfully. He was a small man who barely came up to Taiga’s shoulders, and Taiga himself could barely fit into the doorframe. Staying in Dejima among foreigners for so long had almost made him forget how small regular buildings out in the countryside were like. The revelation made him feel a tad embarrassed, though he had no idea why the innkeeper seemed like he was almost hiding. “I see. Um, are there any other inns nearby you know, please?”

“N-no, sorry, this is the only place in town, I’m afraid,” the innkeeper stammered, though he kept his feet firmly planted in the ground. “You could ask if the temple if they have any spare rooms—I’m s-sure the monks wouldn’t mind a…a gentleman like you staying a night.”

“Oh.” The way the man’s eyes stayed on the gleaming black hilt of his katana did not escape him. No doubt he thought Taiga was a samurai in disguise, or worse. He shifted awkwardly, disentangling himself from the doorframe. “Well, thanks. I’ll go ask.”

Maji looked hungry and had definitely nipped some hay from the inn’s supplies. Hastily Taiga undid the ropes, hoping to the heavens that there was space available at the temple as the innkeeper had described. Tanabata had just passed, as had his nineteenth birthday, though Taiga never did care much for big celebrations other than the food supplied. He’d thought there would be fewer travelers on the road with Bon coming up, but that was apparently not the case.

There was a slight but noticeable temperature difference between here and Nagasaki; though the summer heat was upon them still, Taiga thought it would be nice to have actual blankets for the night. Though that would be quite out of the question at a temple, he couldn’t help but hope as man and horse trotted up through the imposing gates of the temple atop the hill. Lanterns lined the path towards the steps, giving the place an eerie red glow. It was a wonder Maji wasn’t more spooked than he was, though Taiga could feel his impatience beneath the saddle.

Looking up at the large wooden door, Taiga took a deep breath and knocked.

The door cracked open almost immediately, the face of an elderly monk staring up at him. “Yes?”

“H-hello,” Taiga stammered—was he supposed to bow? It had been a while—and bowed stiffly, knocking his head against the open door. He backed away a little, and Maji neighed surreptitiously behind him. “I was wondering, um, the inn in town is full tonight and I was…they told me it would be possible to…stay a night here, please.”

The monk opened the door just a bit wider, and Taiga was suddenly very conscious how probing the other man’s eyes were. “We do not take soldiers here.”

Hastily Taiga shook his head, gesturing at his belongings on Maji’s back. “I’m not a soldier! I…work at the capital as a scribe. This is just for protection in case you know, bandits.”

It wasn’t _that_ much of a stretch, although the way the monk was eyeing him suspiciously was telling. Finally he sighed, voice raspy as he beckoned Taiga in. “Come on in, then, be quick about it. I’ll have someone take the horse out back.”

Relieved, Taiga hurriedly gathered his things, gave Maji a quick pat and followed the old monk inside. “Thank you, ah…”

“Hiroshi.”

“Hiroshi-sama.” He paused, surprised at how dim the lights were inside. It was nighttime, but the sounds of footsteps he was hearing told Taiga there were quite a number of monks living here. “My name is Kagami Taiga.”

If the monk heard him, he made no show of recognition. Taiga was shown to a spare room, sparsely furnished with worn mats and the thinnest blanket he’d ever seen, but he was grateful for this much. The room was clean, at least, and Hiroshi had left him with a lamp once Taiga seemed settled down. It would do to leave some money in the morning, though the rest of the temple looked like it didn’t need any more furnishing. Taiga had not failed to notice the gold-plated pillars and ivory carvings on the altar, features that even the imperial-endorsed temples in the capital lacked. Wealthy private temples were not unheard of, but this was his first time seeing one in the countryside.

He sat down on the bed, fumbling with the string around his neck as he shed his jacket. A jade amulet hung from thick red string, firelight shining through its deep green color that seeped into turquoise at the edges. 

_If you ever get lost, Taiga, this will show you home._

It felt warm in the palm of his hand, strangely so. Taiga furrowed his brows, letting the pendant drop back against his skin. Suddenly the room seemed chillier than he’d previously thought. Warm...?

“No, no, no…” Taiga stood up quickly, making sure the door was securely closed before retreating back into the bed, the pangs of hunger in his stomach forgotten. The fire would burn itself out in due time, but Taiga would let it illuminate what little part of the room it could for now. 

_Why did it have to be ghosts?_

It had been something he could see since he was a child, though even the least malicious spirits would’ve sent him running into his mother’s arms. The priests had to be called in every so often, though the occurrences dwindled as Taiga became older and just that bit calmer. It had stopped almost entirely by the time Tatsuya had given him that amulet, yet the last time it burned _—_

He huddled in the blankets, eyes closed, trying to regulate his breathing. Maybe he was overreacting, that the pendant wasn’t actually hot against his skin. Taiga clutched at his katana, its scabbard cool against his skin. A gift from his father when he had turned sixteen, and more well-used than his books, but it would do nothing against a spirit. When was the last time he'd had it blessed? A year, two?

_Please let it be a nice ghost, at least._

He waited, and waited, but nothing came shrieking through the doors. Taiga sat up tentatively, all senses telling him to wait. Footsteps outside his door became fainter as the last of the monks went to bed, and he closed his eyes.

“Hello?”

Outside, someone started to scream.

 

* * *

 

Taiga’s first instinct was _run_ , but another voice in his chest said _stay_. Ghosts or not, there was someone more desperate for help than him. Throwing the blanket off, he jumped up and knocked open the door. The hallway was dark, all traces of light wiped save the coals of the day's last offerings.

Not a ghost, then—bandits? The scream had come from his right, and that was where Taiga’s legs took him. _Please, please, please—_

The courtyard was devoid of people save a gruesome splash of crimson in the middle, spreading sickly across the rocks in the moonlight. Taiga suppressed an urge to vomit as he approached carefully, katana out and ready. None of this was making sense; he forced himself to calm down, taking in his surroundings. Had the bandits run already, taken what they could and wounded someone in the process? But where was the body then?

Something moved in the shadows of the hallway ahead of him, edging forward, and with horror Taiga realized this was not a simple robbery. He felt physically ill as a man stepped out from the dark, white teeth gleaming in the dark through a wide smile. _No, not a man,_ Taiga thought, a chill running down his spine—what kind of man had _fangs and six arms_? 

He could feel the pendant burning a hole in his clothes as the man opened his mouth. “Well, well…Yamazaki, I thought you said this was not a samurai?”

“My apologies,” came a familiar voice behind Taiga. He whirled around, seeing the old monk standing behind him, blocking the doorway—but he could see the features of the monk’s face shift, painfully, into that of a much younger man. On his left hand, a deep gash. He sounded more apathetic than apologetic. “I’m sure it makes no difference, Hanamiya. He is more than enough to share.”

“ _Share?_ ” All around him Taiga could here scuttling, perhaps two or three more, but it was of little comfort to him that he was practically surrounded by a bunch of hungry youkai. He had read about tsuchigumo in his books before, and they were not to be taken lightly. But nothing in his books had prepared him for this sort of confrontation.

 _But,_ he thought, _if they were not ghosts, they could be cut down._

“I don’t feel like being eaten right now,” he growled, holding his stance.

Hanamiya’s face twitched, though his voice was still silky smooth as he fixated his eyes on Taiga’s katana, then his body. “Feisty, aren’t you. _I_ didn’t mention eating anyone…don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions too quick?”

“Are you kidding? What else would this be about?” Taiga retorted, pointing at the pool of blood on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two other figures approaching, but not yet making any moves. One of them shrugged. “If you’re not gonna, would you at least get out of my way?”

“Why should I?” In an instant Hanamiya was standing barely three strides from him, his golden kimono shimmering in the moonlight. Although Taiga was taller than the other, he still felt compelled to take a step back, katana pointed resolutely at the tsuchigumo. At this the youkai sighed, and Taiga felt confusion welling up inside him as Hanamiya raised a hand to wipe away at something on his face. “Oh, humans, they’ll never understand, do they? We have _feelings_ too, samurai- _sama_. Do you really believe all the lies they tell about us? Sometimes we are just… _lonely_ , you know?”

“Eh? I’ve told you, I’m _not_ a samurai!”  Even so, the rest of the sentence struck him as highly odd. Was Hanamiya…crying? Taiga, unsure, lowered the katana just a bit. “Even if you’re upset, I don’t think—“

Years of sparring with the masters and actual samurai in his father’s household had honed his reflexes well enough for Taiga to dodge the clawed hand that had definitely been aiming for his face. Instinctively he slashed at the offending limb, the sharp edge of his blade slicing through cloth, skin and bone alike. Hanamiya let out a hiss, and the other youkai looked at each other, nervous. Taiga knew he was in trouble by the way their leader was looking at him the way a spider would look at a fat, juicy insect. “Upset? As if, idiot.”

It was as if they had all decided to reach out for him at once, and Taiga could almost feel the scream coming up his throat. Far away, he thought he heard the sound of hooves.

_“Stop!”_

He brought the blade down on the first hand he saw, but suddenly he could not see a thing. A blinding light emanated from his chest— _no, not his chest, the—_

He could hear pained yelps from all around, and a very familiar thundering noise alerted Taiga that he should only be doing one thing right now. And so he ran. 

Something ripped through the sleeve of his right arm and grazed his shoulder as the light started to diminish; biting back the pain, Taiga heard then saw the loud crash Maji created as he broke into the courtyard. Chaos reigned as the youkai, momentarily dazed, realized what he was doing. “Get him!”

Blood pounded in his ears as Taiga swung up onto Maji’s back, urging the horse through the dark hallway. He could hear more yelling behind him, and out of the corner of his eye caught moving silver threads that glinted in the moonlight. “Shit!”

Maji took a sharp turn at the pull of his reins, just barely missing running into the web ahead. Taiga brought his blade down even harder this time, slicing through the remaining strands as they broke into the front yard. The murderous hissing sound coming from behind only served for him to urge Maji on faster, never mind the fact that Hanamiya was a hair’s breadth away from grabbing on to them both. Taiga could see the shadow behind him moving fast against the moonlight, closing in.

The amulet burned hot against his skin as man and horse cleared the gates, and it was then Taiga heard a great bumping sound behind. He craned his neck around to look in spite of himself, and saw that the tsuchigumo had stopped beneath the torii, smashing himself against it violently as Maji took him further down the hill. He turned back quickly, not wanting to know if that was temporary.

It was not until they were three entire  _ri_ down the road when the adrenaline rushing through Taiga’s body had subsided enough for him to feel cold. Cold from head to toes, in fact, when he realized he did not have his jacket on. 

“What the hell,” he whispered, surprising himself by how ragged his voice sounded. Hands shaking, Taiga chanced another look backwards, but there was nothing but a well-trampled path. Maji’s gait slowed to a leisurely walk. Taiga looked down at the amulet bumping gently against his skin, its surface now cool. “What the _hell_ was that.”

Was this what his brother had meant? Had Tatsuya known, before he...

_(a flash of hair, pale blue, then gone before Taiga could say for sure if he'd seen it)_

His mind a jumble of confusion, Taiga decided to stop thinking for the moment. No, the most important thing was to keep going. What belongings he had left behind were not important now, though that had been the majority of his money and books. He had Maji, and his katana, the clothes on his back and most importantly his life. All he could do now was hope he was sufficiently far away for the youkai to have lost interest in him as a potential meal. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it near enough to Seirin before dawn. If he was lucky, someone would recognize him. This was a road he had frequented in past years, though always with company.

Maybe things wouldn’t turn out so bad. He’d reach Seirin, rest up for a bit while _not_ thinking about the fact that a supposedly mythical youkai had just tried to eat him, then go meet up with his father. Everything was going to turn out fine if he just relaxed.

Everything, except for the fact that the throbbing in his shoulder was not going away.

 

* * *

 

By the time he reached a tiny wayside village, Taiga was beginning to think he would not make it.

The throbbing in his right shoulder had escalated to a searing pain that shot through his entire arm every so often. His muscles were cramping up, rendering him unable to hold the ropes too tightly. Taiga had ripped off a piece of cloth to tie around the swelling cut Hanamiya had made in his shoulder, but the pain refused to subside.

“Nnngh.”

It was of small comfort to him that his wound did not seem to be worsening from its current condition. Taiga could practically feel the bags under his eyes as Maji trotted through the village, its doors and windows tightly shut. That was strange, he thought—even in the city people were up and about at this time. He could already see the faintest traces of pink on the horizon, the skies lightening from deep azure. It was not a very memorable village by any maens, and he had difficulty in remembering if it was even inhabited.

Maji seemed to think so, as he regained a quicker pace even though Taiga knew his horse must be just as tired as he was. Instinctively he looked down at the amulet around his neck; he’d been looking down at it every so often ever since getting out of that temple. It was not emitting light, or heat, or doing anything—just a normal jade pendant. Still, Taiga had a distinct feeling he was being monitored.

Thankfully that feeling went away as they left the village behind, though Taiga’s eyelids were threatening to quit holding up. He _had_ to rest somewhere, had to find something for the pain to subside, and Seirin—

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into Maji’s dark mane. _The sun will be up soon_ , he told himself, biting at his lip as another spasm of pain shot down his arm. His stomach was rumbling too, faintly. _Not too far now, not…_

Taiga was jolted awake less than fifteen minutes later, when Maji abruptly stopped. “Hm?“

Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, Taiga was surprised to see that the horse had stopped in front of what looked like a ruined temple. _Temples again?_ He thought, immediately alert, but then he noticed the tracks on the ground. Horses, and fresh tracks at that.

“Hey! Hey, Maji, stop _—where are you going?_ ”

Maji started trotting into the temple, despite Taiga’s protests. It was apparent his horse had a mind of his own, or just, as Taiga came to see, terrifyingly good instincts for very bad things.

The sky had grown paler still, perhaps only half an hour away from sunrise. And it was in that dim light Taiga saw bodies on the ground, the buzzing of insects and congealed blood that once more turned his senses upside down.

_I’m not—blood—_

_What—_

Maji, completely still, did not as much respond to his incoherency. The pain that darted through his arm brought Taiga back into reality, that there was nobody around. Silence filled his ears as he slid numbly off the horse’s back, walking carefully between the two bodies. It became readily apparent to him that no youkai had come to gnaw on these corpses; what had killed them were deep slashes across their throats, precise and unforgiving. One of them had been completely beheaded.

Their clothing were nonuniform, brown slacks and thin leather armor that hadn’t protected them from death. Bandits, surely, as he noticed the weapons laying haphazardly near them. But who had they been trying to rob?

_I’m not the only one to seek refuge in a temple._

Trying to ignore the aching of his wound, Taiga pulled out his own katana, holding it with his left hand this time. Not his most preferred hand to fight with, but he did not count on his right arm healing instantly in case of battle. The temple door had been pushed open, and Taiga could see the dying flame of a torch in its holder. Beyond it, two other crumpled bodies. If there were more, he did not want to know.

He headed in, pausing to give a nod of gratitude at the altar. Gods and goddesses he knew admittedly little ( _too_ little, for someone of his station) about, but anyone who had picked up a sword before would know Bishamonten’s name. Weary feet carried him past the altar, the pillars, and then—

“…sure about this, Kise-kun?”

He froze.

Someone was talking behind the door just a few meters away. He had prepared for finding survivors, half-dead or on their last breath, or even alive and well, but…

Taiga knew that voice.

_Come with me then, Himuro Tatsuya._

The amulet on his chest burned, a different kind of flame than it had previously wrought. It was a soft voice, but firm, a voice that theoretically could’ve belonged to anyone. But he knew better. It was the owner of that very same voice who had taken his brother away. Taiga had woken up to see it with the jade burning against his skin, a man, _no, a boy, no, blue hair, he had pale blue hair, his eyes like the sky—_

“I’m sure.” An unfamiliar voice joined it, wavering.

“Come with me then, Kise Ryouta.”

“No!” Instinct won over this time, swift and furious against his better judgment. Taiga was at the door in seconds, throwing it open with all the ferocity left in him. It was only a split second, but he saw

(the boy, the man, whoever he was, he’d looked back into Taiga’s eyes before he vanished and knew, he _knew_ )

pale blue, then a mop of golden hair, and a thud. He blinked, and the pain came back.

There were two men in the room, neither of which looked familiar. One of them— _wasn’t he the one who just_ ran through Taiga’s mind, chaotic—was slumped over beside a cracked wall, the sleeves of his cream-colored yukata stained with blood, stray strands of blond hair covering his face. Despite that, it was apparent the blond man was no older than he was. As for the other man lying on the bed, Taiga could not help but feel the urge to retch again when he looked.

_So much blood._

The entire length of the man’s front was soaked in blood, although whose blood it was Taiga could not tell. He could, however, smell it quite strongly in the small room, the scent making his stomach churn. _No, he can’t be helped now,_ he told himself, instead turning his attention towards the blond man. _I wonder if he—_

Something moved on the bed.

Taiga yelped and stepped back, staring with horror at the fact that the man on the bed had moved. He could only stare in wonder as the man seemed to, defying all reality that he had known about blood-soaked men, be alive. Taiga watched the man’s fingers run through his dark blue hair slowly, watched him sit up from the bed. He opened his mouth and closed it, only to make a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

The man opened his eyes at that sound, and Taiga found himself being stared right through, as if he were not there.

“This is not happening to me,” he muttered, words spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall. The man seemed to not comprehend as he continued to stare at nothing, then, slowly, at the blond on the ground. It was then his face contorted, and he snapped up his head to meet Taiga’s gaze again. Confusion, horror, anger; they consumed and froze him. At that Taiga raised his katana unconsciously, realizing too late it was a move that doomed him.

_He should really have known better._

“What,” the man growled, voice low and dangerous as he reached for his own blade. “the _fuck_ did you do to Ryouta?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dejima](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dejima) is an island in Nagasaki built in 1634 to contain foreigners, mostly Dutch, during Japan's self-imposed isolationist era.
> 
> [Tanabata](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanabata) is a Japanese festival originating from the Chinese Qixi Festival, while [Bon](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bon_Festival) is a Japanese Buddhist festival where it is custom to honor the spirits of one's ancestors, related to the Chinese Ghost Festival and similar to the Mexican Day of the Dead.
> 
> Tsuchigumo are spider demons.
> 
> Bishamonten (Vaisravana) is the Japanese Buddhist god of warriors and guards and one of the Four Heavenly Kings.


	3. Kise I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise has a revelation, perhaps a little too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm...so sorry for this chapter. In more ways than one. I promise all the confusing things will eventually be explained though (look at me rationalizing my way through the weird characterization and angst in this chapter...)
> 
> Happy AoKise Day, by the way!

_How many times have I lied today?_

 

* * *

 

Kise Ryouta had grown up with a number of problems, but none of them held a candle to what was currently happening in front of his eyes.

He saw Daiki kick the door open, his shadow fluid against the fire outside, and vanish into the fray. Those movements were still burned into his vision seconds later as he followed, goosebumps forgotten. The dagger was light in his hand, so much so that he almost dropped it at voice close to his ear.

“Hey, pretty boy, mind telling me where you keep your money?”

Someone had stuck their torch into the holder, and beneath it Ryouta saw for a fleeting moment Daiki wrestling with someone. The next second he skirted aside to dodge the blade that had been aiming for his eye. His assailant was not much shorter than he was, a balding man of perhaps forty. Ryouta grit his teeth; there was no time to think.

“Sorry, we’ve already been robbed once today.” It was not the first time Ryouta found himself on the wrong end of a bladed weapon, though the other times had, for all intents and purposes, been for his own good. He dodged again, this time backing up as the bandit slashed at his shoulder forcefully. A slight misstep of the foot was all Ryouta needed to step aside, then lunge forward with his own blade. Steel swept across linen and flesh, and he saw blood.

 _Stick them with the pointy end,_ he could hear Daiki’s voice echo inside his head again, ten years old and full of life. He did as told, almost mechanically, and felt something wet spurt onto his hand. One more twist and he was done.

The bandit was down, and Ryouta kicked his weapon aside. He looked up, but nobody was there anymore. Hesitantly he crept past the pillars towards the half-open door. Behind him, a thump and grunt, and he turned to see Daiki slam another bandit into the wall. In the flickering light their eyes met. It was there he saw alarm, even as Ryouta saw him plunging his katana into the bandit’s chest.

_“Ryouta!”_

Too late did he see the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. Ryouta opened his mouth—

_(should’ve listened, is that what you’re thinking now?)_

 

『しね。』

 

He froze, the blade tickling the hairs on his neck. Then it dropped, barely grazing his shoulder as it fell to the ground. Its owner crumpled into a heap beside him, the force driving a breeze up his legs. Ryouta’s ears rang with Daiki’s voice, _that voice_ , ricocheting inside his head. 

_Of course class was boring, but I guess I did learn something interesting today._

Daiki had grinned at him back then, extending a hand out to pull him up. Now Ryouta dropped his weapon and reached out, his own smile faltering as he finally registered what happened. “Daiki?”

“Thank god,” was all he got as a reply, before the blood started to pour forth from Daiki’s mouth.

 

 _Kotodama_ , the power of language. The first time Ryouta learned about it was through demonstration; Daiki showed him how to make a flower bloom just by asking it to. He remembered being fascinated, turning and twisting the lily between his fingers as Daiki muttered something about it being a silly trick. Ryouta had ended up talking to the grass for an hour after Daiki left, though not much came of it.

The second time was Satsuki yelling at Daiki—Ryouta had arrived just in time for her “How can you be so careless?” speech and a smacking. Something about it being not something to be used lightly and dangerously easy to abuse, especially for someone like Daiki—Satsuki had almost started crying when he’d brushed her off as annoying.

“Didn’t you know it comes with a price, stupid Dai-chan?”

 

Ryouta did not know how he ended back in the monks’ room with Daiki’s convulsing body on one of the beds. He could feel the blood soaking through his sleeves, running down the front of his collar. A thousand voices were screaming at once in his mind, and momentarily he dropped his hands, realizing how much they were shaking.

“Hey,” he whispered, fingers curling up against the folds of Daiki’s clothes. A beat, there had to be a beat. Ryouta pressed an ear to his chest, his own heart pounding so loud it was impossible to tell what was there. He felt a hand grip onto his wrist tightly, then loosen. They carried no medicine, no bandages, but it did not matter. Whatever was hurting him came from the inside, where Ryouta could not reach. “You can’t… _can’t_ —“

_Was it my fault? I should’ve known—I should’ve looked—_

A wet, choking sound escaped from his throat. Daiki had always complained about him crying, and he’d been right about the traitorous upturn of his lips that always belied his real intentions. But this time there were no lies.

_No more than you need to, right?_

_I need…_

He reached up, brushing against his jade earring, its surface cool against the back of his hand. It was something he’d had since even before he could remember, and through the years Ryouta had developed a habit of twisting it. At times he suspected the earring was permanently stuck to his ear, as he had never been able to take it off. Daiki would play with it when they were younger, tugging at his ear to make Ryouta cry. Now it throbbed, hurting even where no wound was visible. It had itched badly before, when he fell and twisted his ankle as a child, when he’d run a high fever a few years later. But never this way.

His mouth cracked open, then—Satsuki’s parting words came back to him, haunting.

_Ryou-chan, I can't...I don’t know the whole story either, but I think it's something you’ll have to figure out yourself. …Dai-chan doesn’t know, and he won’t listen to me. Promise me, please, and take care of him._

“It’s true, isn’t it?” He said out loud. The room was still. All those rumors he had tried so desperately to escape from, and the universe had still contrived to make them come true. He tugged at his ear violently, the tears rolling down his cheeks leaving glistening trails in the moonlight. “I c-can’t run away from it forever, can I? Daiki? Do you…want to know?”

There was no response, no rhythmic heartbeat or caress of rough fingers to refute him. Through the film of wetness Ryouta stared hard at Daiki’s face, words welling into his throat.

_I’ve tried so hard._

“If you can do it, why can’t I?”

_If I break myself apart, will it bring you back?_

“Daiki, wake up.”

_You told me before! You told me before you knew I had it in me and I believed and I want to—_

“ _Wake up!_ ”

_How cursed am I, really?_

“I don’t think that’s going to do any good.”

Ryouta jumped, snapping out of his thoughts. He stood up, whirling around to see a young man standing there. Instinctively Ryouta backed away, his hands resolutely planted in the scratchy surface of the bed. The tingling in his ear increased, almost dramatically. “Who are you? Where did you—”

Though the newcomer was about a head shorter, he had the sort of aura that immediately had Ryouta on guard. Moonlight washed over the man, an ethereal sort of glow that somehow made Ryouta unsure of his actual presence. How he had managed to sneak into the room was something that was the least of Ryouta's worries at the moment; the blond grabbed Daiki’s katana from the bed, not willing to take any more chances. His voice came out strained as he menaced the other man with the blade. “Stay back!”

The vacant expression in the other’s blue eyes did not change as he reached into his robes—thin and cerulean, Ryouta observed, almost immaterial—and pulled out a scroll. It unrolled onto the ground, the gentle swish falling to the rhythmic beating of the waves—the waves?

“Aomine Daiki,” the man said, his voice soft. Ryouta could barely hear him over the lull of the river in the background, growing louder and louder by the minute. The light outside was mellow, changing. In that moment he knew who exactly this man was. “Eighteen years old, born on the last day of the Month of Leaves. I am here to—”

“You’re not,” Ryouta said quietly. Something shifted in those blue eyes, and the man seemed to finally be focusing on him. “You’re the ferryman, aren’t you?”

Those were the stories they were told growing up, fairytales and reality, all one and the same. Ryouta had believed for a short time, while he was a young impressionable thing captivated by Daiki’s tall tales of expelling spirits and Satsuki’s silvery voice tempering his imagination with rules and regulations. He would recount to them the tales his sisters told, from books and lands far away, far from the prying eyes of other children in the village. Then he had grown up to forget, those memories becoming a liability in the accusations thrown at him. Even as everything had, one way or another, unraveled to reveal the truth of those stories. If they were being punished for their irreverence

Ryouta had believed because Daiki had, despite everything, and now…

“Yes.” A pause. The man seemed to be assessing him. “It is strange that you still see me.”

“If you’re here, that means Daiki hasn’t left yet.” Ryouta’s eyes flitted from corner to corner as he lowered the katana, placing it gently back in its place. Could a human weapon cut someone of another world? His voice shook. “Don’t take him.”

“…” There was an audible sigh, as the man rolled up the scroll some more. “What is your name?”

 _There is power in a name._ Ryouta swallowed hard, golden eyes blinking rapidly. “…Kise Ryouta.”

“Kuroko.” If he had been expecting Ryouta to be surprised by a quick admission of his own name, Kuroko did not seem to have noticed. Instead he looked intently at the scroll, fingers pushing against its fabric in a rustling noise. When Kuroko finally looked up again, Ryouta thought he could see a glimmer of confusion in those eyes. “This…I see.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Those words were a faint whisper, desperate. Daiki’s skin was still warm against his touch, though perhaps most of that warmth was his own. “It—It can be something else, can it? I killed a man today, too.“

“Kise-kun.” Kuroko took a step forward, his tone unchanging. “Kotodama is not a game or a matter of skill. Every time you use it, it takes away from your lifespan. The stronger the wish, the stronger the backlash. I am sure Aomine-kun knew that, before he—”

“And if I wish him back?” Ryouta stared him down, voice defiant. “What did you see there, huh? Tell me.”

“I’m afraid that information is classified,” Kuroko replied evenly, snapping up the scroll with a flick of his wrist. Ryouta observed his eyes flickering to the door, his next words sinking to the bottom of the blond’s stomach. “And that what you want to do is impossible at the moment. There might be another way, however.”

Kuroko was searching his face intently, so much that Ryouta had to avert his eyes. In the early morning light, Daiki almost looked as if he were sleeping. Ryouta cupped a hand around his face, realizing he had stopped shaking. _Of course, it was so easy._ He looked back at Kuroko, whose mouth was drawn in an expectant line. This time Ryouta smiled at him, tremulously, as his thoughts fell in place. “I can do it.”

“Kise-kun…”

“A life for a life, that’s what you mean, right? Am I not good enough a replacement for Daiki?” Though he was all too aware what was coming out of his mouth, Ryouta could not keep his voice down. He took a step towards Kuroko, the ringing in his ear louder than ever. Yet in that agitation it felt like something had been lifted from his body. “Let me.”

Kuroko’s face seemed even paler now, and his voice trembled imperceptibly even as he stayed still at Ryouta’s intrusion. “That was not what I meant. You are not the first one who’s asked such a thing.”

“Then why aren’t you answering my question?” He exhaled, slowly, his voice a pleading whine as he gripped Kuroko’s shoulders tightly. “Please, Kuroko…sama.”

For a long minute those blue eyes, inscrutable once more, considered his face. “If you so insist, I will take you to the Judge. You can plead your case then, if you wish. But—”

“Will he wake, if I go?”

“If I leave, he will.” Kuroko stepped away from Ryouta’s grip, stowing the scroll away into the folds of his robes. Around him the rays of early morning flowed, dimming and brightening, and Ryouta wondered dimly what if he would see the light again. “…Are you sure about this, Kise-kun?”

“I’m sure,” he said. Kuroko held out a hand, his fingers almost translucent against the light. _I must be dreaming_ , he thought, as he reached out as well, trancelike. 

_Ryouta—_

He felt Kuroko’s fingers tighten around his, the sudden pulse of energy rushing through his body sticking him to the ground. And it _hurt_ , his ear, it hurt so much, but his smile did not falter. He turned, eyes lingering on the bed for one last moment.

_I know you, Daiki. Better than anyone else._

“Come with me then, Kise Ryouta.”

A rush of fallen leaves, the slam of a broken door. Ryouta thought he saw something red hurtling into the room a split second before the world around him shifted, but whatever it was gave away in an instant to a veil of black across his eyes. If he screamed, or hurt, it was all a dream—

 

_—Don't be stupid, Ryouta, where else am I going?_

 

_—A monster, a monster, there's no other explanation—_

 

_—I am me, just me. Kise Ryouta. Nothing more..._

 

His head hit something, hard, and Ryouta let out a yelp of surprise, one quickly silenced by the sensation of rocking.

"Welcome to the Sanzu River, Kise-kun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sanzu River in Japanese Buddhism functions much like the Styx of Greek mythology. In order to get to the underworld, the deceased must cross the river, usually at a price.


	4. Aomine II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long on this one! A lot of things happened in this month-and-a-half (I'm not even in the same country I was anymore...) I'm not completely satisfied with it either but, well, it will have to do for now. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> A **Disclaimer** , one that I probably should put up at the very beginning but: Though I'm sure people know this, please don't take all the history and/or culture presented in this fic as fact. I do my research whenever possible, but there _are_ going to be embellishments to enhance the story's flow. Feel free to ask about this if you're curious, and again, thanks for reading!)

_He is eight years old again, hiding from the neighbors’ incessant yelling over spilled chicken feed and broken buckets. Daiki dodges branches and brambles, his footsteps carrying him further and further away from his house and Satsuki’s, There would be no lessons today, as her father is out of town. At the moment Satsuki is probably helping her mother with the midday meal; he does not envy her duties one bit._

_Soon enough he is on the edge of the village. Touou, situated in a wide, gently sloping valley, has always been spread out; its inhabitants never numbered more than two hundred, with clusters of houses dotted here and there. Many times he had been warned to not go near the dense forests along the village limits, but Daiki has never been the sort to follow the arbitrary rules of adults. And so off he goes, running along the stream that winds its way along the outskirts._

_He skids to a stop when he hears voices. Older kids by the sound of it, no more than four of them. Daiki runs a hand along the patch of hoozuki plants growing along the road as he approaches, their tiny red bells papery against his fingers. He is eight now after the past turn of the moon, old enough to want to play with more than just Satsuki. Not that he didn’t always drag her along in the end—but today she isn’t here._

_Four kids, none of them he’d ever approached before—save one. He wrinkles his nose at the fact that they seem to be lead by Haizaki Shougo, the woodworker’s son. Daiki has never gotten along with the gray-haired little punk, though he does wonder how Shougo had gotten older boys to play with him._

_The answer, he finds quickly, is an outcast._  

_Lost among the ring of children is a head of golden hair, and the sound of soft, stifled sniffing. Daiki edges closer, and one of them turns around. “Oi, there’s someone here!”_

_“What are you guys doing?” Two of them come, uncertainly, towards him, but Daiki dodges them, craning his neck to get a good look into the circle. Between Shougo and another boy—his name is Hideki, Daiki recalls vaguely—sits a boy around his own age, golden bangs hiding his eyes. Immediately he sees the cuts and bruises on the boy’s arms and legs, and the torn sleeve of Shougo’s jacket._

_There is an obvious tone of disdain in Shougo’s voice as he speaks, though Daiki can clearly tell he’d also been crying. “What are you doing here? Go away.”_

_“Shut up,” Daiki tells him, annoyed now. He doesn’t care about what had just happened, but this is_ his _place. Now that he’s standing next to them, the older kids don’t seem all that threatening, either—if anything, they seem unsure without what Daiki knew as Shougo’s bullying. “I play here. Take your stupid fight somewhere else.”_

_“I think we should go,” Hideki says, shuffling uncomfortably._

_“No,” says Shougo, and Daiki rolls his eyes at him._

_Later, he ends up sitting next to the blond boy, whose golden eyes had started fixating on the frenzy a little while after he’d thrown a punch at Shougo’s face. Of course, Daiki does not know that until the stranger opens his mouth._  

_“You’re pretty cool,” he ventures, smiling._

_Daiki’s mind runs a momentary blank as he grins back, massaging his own bruises. He can still hear Shougo’s yells from far off even as Hideki and the rest of the boys haul him away. “I’ve never seen you around.”_

_“Oh,” the blond says, and his bright smile falters for a fraction of a second. “I don’t…really live in the village.”_  

_Like most eight-year-olds, Daiki does not bother with tact. “But then where do you come from? What’s your name?”_

_“I’m—“_

_He strains his ear, listening, but the name never comes._

 

_The world spins around him, his body tumbling in grass and trees and roots and dirt, the leathery crumble of winter cherries chiming with every movement. Daiki reaches out to grasp at the hem of the boy’s clothes, but there is only smoke, a blur of gold and teal. He cries out, lost in a storm of memory, and he is falling, falling—_

Ryouta.

_Long ago, someone had reached out to him in the same way._

Kise Ryouta. 

_The sound of running water fills his ears, a roaring cascade of blue that sweeps him away, far out into the open. He is floating, borne by a light that somehow dims more and more as he reaches, continuously, at the surface. Someone is calling him, calling out—_

 

* * *

 

Daiki opened his eyes, and everything was a haze. He could just barely make out someone standing a few meters away. Ryouta? No, wait— 

Red hair. The man had red hair. Daiki’s head ached as he sat up, the room coming into focus. Slumped next to the window was an unmoving Ryouta, his eyes covered like the first time they met. There was blood on his sleeves, and suddenly Daiki was all too aware of the very same liquid drying on his chin and down his chest.

“…not happening to me…”

The redhead was someone Daiki had never seen before, but the weapon in his hand jolted Daiki completely awake. Why was Ryouta on the ground? He remembered the bandits, but there was little he could find to recall what had happened after…

_—the clang of metal, firelight, a blade to the neck—_

“What the fuck did you do to Ryouta?”

He was up in an instant, nausea momentarily shoved to the back of his mind. The stranger backed away, eyes wide. “Look, I didn’t—there was someone in here I—“

The atmosphere of the room had shifted with the stranger’s lowering of his weapon, but now Daiki could see much more clearly an aura concentrated around something hidden close to the chest. His heart beat heavily in his ears, erratic as he drew near. _Something’s wrong with his shoulder_ , Daiki realized, focusing on an ugly purple swelling that had spread beyond the boundaries of the cloth wrapped around a telling wound. A trace of _youki_ that lingered there made him pause.

—That was not, however, enough to stop him from pouncing on the stranger, weapon forgotten amid a surge of emotion.

By some stroke of luck he’d managed to avoid being stabbed, as the stranger dropped his katana in surprise—or pain. Instead both of them crashed down into a rotting wooden table, sending dust and splinters flying. Daiki reached for his neck, fingers brushing against leather string as he closed his hands around the other’s neck. A well-aimed kick to his midriff left him gasping, thought he did not relent. Only a sudden dizzying sensation forced his fingers to uncurl; he felt nauseous, head swimming as he gripped along the edges of the wooden walls, scraping splinters. 

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Beneath him, the other man rasped, rolling away from Daiki’s grip before any more harm could come his way. “I just—I _told_ you, I don’t know what happened! What the hell—”

“Shut up,” Daiki whispered, clutching at his head. He crawled towards Ryouta as the other man, bulky and hurt as he was, scrambled nimbly out of the way. Parts of his robe had yet to dry, and left impressions of blood dragging across the wood and dust. But he had had enough. “Come on, Ryouta…?“

Those hands were soft, the callouses that had begun to form from gripping a weapon still less brittle than Daiki’s own. Yet he’d have gotten there in time, if not… 

“Hey—he’s still breathing.” 

There was a ragged edge to the other’s voice, fleeting, but Daiki put his ear to Ryouta’s chest all the same. White noise filled his mind, then subsided.

It was languid, but there—the thumping of a heart, drawing blood back into a yet-warm body. Behind them, the redhead wobbled in the corner of Daiki’s eye. He was not yet done. “Hey, _you_. What’s your name.”

“You just tried to _kill_ me, and now you’re asking for my name?” Still, after a moment’s hesitation the stranger relented, albeit reluctantly. “…I’m…Kagami.” 

_Kill…?_

It came back then, what he’d done, dragging the words back into his mouth. Satsuki’s voice rang loud and clear in his head. _Didn’t you know it comes with a price?_

Daiki stood up shakily; Ryouta’s body seemed so small now, unmoving even as he tried to pull the blond up. Here all over Daiki's face and clothes was evidence that the price had been paid—somehow. And the only trace of crimson on Ryouta was dusted at the hems of his sleeves. “…Hey, tell me, Ryouta, why aren’t I dead? Why won’t you wake up? Hey—”

Kagami took an uncertain step towards him. “There was a guy, shortish, light blue hair. They were talking. When I came in, they…“

Nobody Daiki knew fit that description. He saw the trepidation in Kagami’s face, and growled out of spite, drawing Ryouta closer to him. “They what? You’re making things up now, aren’t you.“

“Why the hell would I do that? I don’t—I don’t even _know_ you.” Here Kagami drew in a sharp breath, left hand straying towards his wounded shoulder again. Daiki eyed him critically; there was no blood on Kagami’s clothes, save for several streaks that Daiki had left on him during their tussle. “He asked him—Kise—to go with him. I don’t know where.” 

“Go with him?” Unease bubbled up in Daiki’s stomach, overtaking anger and confusion. _Did I even mention Ryouta's surname in front of him?_ “He’s _here_.”

Kagami grimaced and looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “It sounded really old-fashioned. ‘Come with me, Kise Ryouta.’ That’s…what he said.”

 

* * *

 

 _“Dai-chan.”_  

_“Mm?”_

_He watched Satsuki stand up and move towards him, her face scrunched up in thought. The wooden floorboards of the temple creaked, specks of dust lazy in the sunlight. “Do you remember when Gran died?”_

_“Yeah.” Daiki looked up at her, puzzled. That had been more than seven years ago; Satsuki’s grandmother had been seventy something, old enough to have warranted a slightly more elaborate funeral. They’d been six and Daiki himself had never been too close to the old woman, but still—he lowered his gaze. “…Do you miss her?”_

_“...I do. But that’s not what I mean.” She sat down next to him, brushing off bits of dried grass. “I had a weird dream the night before. I didn’t remember until that lesson about dreams today—_

_“It was a voice, telling me he was sorry he was taking Gran away. I didn’t understand then, he had such a weird way of talking.”_

_“Weird?”_

_“It sounded—old-fashioned? I asked my dad about it.” She hugged her legs towards herself. “He said it’s probably the underworld relaying a message.”_

_“Don’t you have a lot of weird dreams anyway, Satsuki?” Daiki shrugged, flicking a leaf off his knee. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for those with spiritual awareness, particularly children, to dream of things to come. Though, now that he thought about it, he’d never had any himself despite the power he’d expressed while awake. He yawned, lying back down on the corridor. A spider scurried across the roof, disappearing into a dusty crevice behind rows of paper lanterns._

_“They’re not weird!” Satsuki stuck her tongue out at him, poking him on the side. “That was the_ only _time I’d heard someone without seeing them in a dream. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”_

_Daiki snorted. “You’re not hoping he was a handsome prince or something dumb, are you?”_

_“…You’re impossible.” She shoved him harder, and he kicked at her half-heartedly. Then, almost abruptly, Satsuki sighed quietly, drawing her hands back to herself. He had been prepared for an onslaught, but her motions gave him pause._

_“Knowing what it means, I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to hear it, Dai-chan.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hoozuki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physalis_alkekengi) \- also known as Chinese lantern or winter cherry, it is a plant native to East Asia. In Japan, it is traditionally used as an offering to the deceased during Bon.


	5. Kagami II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of dialogue here. dun dun dun
> 
> also, i haven't tagged it because it hasn't yet appeared, but just so everyone knows, there will be midotaka & a vague mention of mayuaka in the next chapter. that will all be tagged when i actually finish & post chapter 6. o/

Even in his state, Taiga could understand—however reluctantly—why the room went still.

After all, under different circumstances, it had already happened to him.

He watched the man shuffle across the room in silence, realizing he’d never gotten the other’s name. Not that Taiga was going to get it anytime soon. Grimacing, he slumped back against the wall; if only he’d urged Maji onward instead of stopping at this run-down temple. Whatever had transpired in the few hours before his arrival had definitely done a number on these two, though Taiga still had difficulty understanding the sequence of events. Adding that to what he’d just heard…

A hiss squeezed through his teeth. Whether or not he still had the strength to go on was an issue, for the swelling felt searing now, hampering his concentration. But then again, he wouldn’t have seen _that person_ again—

As he looked at the ground, a small leather pouch landed at his feet. Taiga looked up at the man’s back, and heard him grunt. “Your shoulder. Use that.”

 _Really, now?_ Though Taiga was wary, it would be much simpler to dispose of him at the moment without resorting to methods like poison. Gingerly he picked up the pouch, dumping its contents onto the ground: a wooden container, which opened to a ghastly smell of herbal medicine. He wrinkled his nose, wondering how in the world vegetation could smell so bad.

It was kind of disgusting, really, but it wasn’t as if doctors in the city used anything less weird. Taiga unwrapped the piece of cloth, dangling it on a wall splinter, and started applying the dark greenish salve to his shoulder. The medicine stung as it touched his skin, making him inhale sharply, but the throbbing pain almost immediately started to subside. A warm sensation spread from the point of contact, down his arm and up his neck, swirling under his skin. His eyes widened as he watched the ugly purple fade, though not completely, receding until it was only a tiny circle around the initial wound. 

Taiga had seen nothing like this before. What kind of person brings around downright _magical_ healing ointments—

The sun was completely up, and now he could just make out the actual color and style of the man’s clothes underneath all that blood. He was half bent over Kise’s inert body, murmuring something. _Of course_ , Taiga realized. _An onmyouji._

That did not explain what his exact relationship to Kise was, though it was apparent from the other’s form that he was not about to leave before waking Kise. Maybe they were apprentices together—neither of them could be much older than him.

“There’s a village up ahead,” he heard himself say, loud enough for the man to break his trance and look back. “I know the people there. There’s a miko, she…might be able to help…if you need it. I have a horse outside.”

It sounded like a stupid idea the moment the words left his mouth. Why would this guy need someone else if he could do it himself? And Taiga didn’t even know _what_ he was trying to do. He was a scholar—though not a very diligent one—and none of the supernatural episodes he’d run into as a child nor the numerous rituals he’d watched city shrines perform left him with the impression that dead people were able to come back to life.

_(However much he thought about Tatsuya, who had vanished entirely and without reason.)_

And so it came as a surprise when the man, after what seemed like an eternity of consideration, nodded slowly, though his face darkened when Taiga mentioned the word _help_. It was only fair, wasn’t it? Wordlessly he gathered up the pouch and his katana, pushing himself off the ground. Taiga already felt better physically—though when he looked at the blond on the floor, he wondered what exactly he was getting himself into.

 

 

Thankfully, as they exited through the broken doors, Taiga immediately spotted Maji grazing behind the torii. It would be unthinkable now if his horse had been stolen or run off. But as soon as they approached, it was apparent there was something amiss.

“Maji!” The horse’s ears flicked back and forth quickly in apprehension at the new arrivals, sniffling in their general direction before trotting away. Taiga ran after him, taking the reins. At least Maji didn’t try to run—that had to be a good sign, right? “Hey, it’s fine. They’re…friends.”

 _Not even acquaintances._ Taiga held on to the reins tightly, leading Maji back. This time he was met with fewer resistance from the horse, though he wondered if that unwillingness was powered by some supernatural instinct. Animals were strange like that. “I…well, he doesn’t like strangers riding him, usually, so you—“

“Aomine.”

“Huh?”

“My name.” He pushed past Taiga, shifting Kise’s weight in his arms as if the blond weighed nothing. Horse stared at man, and Aomine reached out, gently. Maji snorted as he touched the mane, neck, and then saddle, and the horse was still. Then he drew his hand back, cradling Kise’s head; the horse leaned over, sniffing warily, then bumped his head against Aomine’s arm.

And then it finally dawned on Taiga, just exactly what their relationship was.

“Can you walk?”

Taiga opened his mouth, a million protests bubbling up into his throat that he managed to condense into a _“What?”_ as he felt a weight enter his arms. Up close, Kise looked a little less dead than he did splayed out on the ground, though Taiga chose not to dwell much on what exactly that entailed. He watched Aomine swing his legs around Maji in a fluid motion without even earning a tail swish from the horse. Though the moment they started loading Kise’s body into the saddle, Maji stamped on the ground, clearly annoyed. Aomine looked at him with furrowed brows.

So they would _both_ have to walk.

Taiga fidgeted as they did so, the hunger inside him even stronger now that the sun was starting to beat down on their backs. Was he supposed to make small talk? It seemed surreal, now in the light of day, to even think about discussing what he’d just witnessed—and last night.

He glanced sidelong at Aomine, who walked as if he had not been screaming at Taiga just an hour ago, long strides that kept up with Maji’s leisurely pace. At least he had taken the time to change into his other set of clothing before departing, though Taiga could still see faint traces of discoloration where the blood hadn’t completely washed off. An old scar, thin and white, ran down the back of Aomine’s neck in stark contrast to the color of his skin.

The other man’s mouth was pulled taut; whatever it would take to tease answers out of him was surely going to be a pain. Taiga was, however, getting tired of the silence.

“…You aren’t gonna ask me what I was doing there?”

No answer. Then, “If it doesn’t have anything to do with this, I don’t care.”

Despite answering in monotone, there was an emphasis on _this_ that sounded at once accusatory and apologetic. Taiga felt himself bristle in spite of things. “Well, for your information, it kind of does? A youkai tried to eat me and I…well, you’d think temples and shrines would offer more protection.”

“You would think that,” Aomine says, his voice so low Taiga could barely hear it over the sound of Maji’s hoof steps. 

They had tied Kise to the saddle and tucked his blood-stained sleeves underneath his body. He looked asleep—fluttery golden lashes framed a still face against the dark leather and bronze plating of the saddle. It looked somewhat ostentatious even now, gold lining with a pearl embedded on each side, though the one facing him had started to lose some of its shine. A family heirloom, according to his father—and how long would it be until Taiga saw _him_ again?

It was true country folk had vastly different notions of the supernatural. Taiga’s “inclinations”, as the doctors had prescribed, had been kept strictly under wraps. Priests and monks were called in, though the ceremonies had been short and for the most part perfunctory. He remembered hearing unknowing acquaintances balk at the superstitions of the commoners, but then caught servants’ whispers of masters being terrified out of their wits the moment anything out of the ordinary happened. Now that he thought about it harder, just how much he had already been exposed to a world he mostly wanted no part in was no laughing matter.

In light of it all, Aomine seemed much less bothered about magic than he was at the condition being forced on Kise. Thinking about the violence of the entire episode only led to more unsettling conclusions. Taiga rubbed his stomach self-consciously as it growled. There would be food in Seirin, though at their pace it looked as if they wouldn’t be able to reach it until nightfall. “It’s weird there isn’t anyone else coming up this road. Hyuuga travels this way on Tuesdays—I guess everyone’s preparing for the festival. There’s going to be lots of people there. We can definitely find someone to figure this out.”

Aomine made a noncommittal grunt. “There isn’t any need for that.”

“Why not?” Taiga could feel his voice rise in annoyance. True, it wasn’t his friend—they're not _friends_ , a voice whispered, and he batted that away—who was draped unconscious over a stranger’s horse. But even as someone not particularly prone to ordering people around, he felt this as a slight. “Look, I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, but—“

“But you _are_ being nosey, rich boy.” The tone of Aomine’s voice changed slightly even as he kept a normal pace. Taiga’s indignant growl did not deter the other from continuing to speak. “I’m here for help, not your commentary or trying to get all up in my business.”

“The hell you mean ‘getting all up in your business’?”

They stopped, and Maji walked a few steps before snorting and coming to a stop, looking back at the two. This was far from the most frustrating situation Taiga had had to deal with before, but Aomine’s obstinacy was astounding.

He seemed to be suffering some sort of verbal constipation before he spat out, “You really don’t understand anything, do you?”

“Of course I don’t! Because you won’t fucking _tell me_ —“ Taiga kicked at a clod of dirt, glowering at his companion. His chest feels hot, and he can’t tell whether it’s the heat or his anger or the jade burning against his skin. “Why do you think you’re the only one who knows anything, huh?”

“Why do _you_ think—“

“Because I _know_ what it feels like, fuck!” Aomine’s eyes widened in surprise, but Taiga wasn’t about to let him get another word in. “I _heard_ \- I _saw_ that guy take my brother away. Shit, maybe it was meant to be, but don’t you think I’d like to at least know _why_? Like you? Don’t you think other people have questions of their own too?”

His head felt hot, the words hung suspended in the air between them. Aomine stared at him, pursing his lips. “Y…you’ve seen him before?” 

Taiga exhaled slowly, refusing to look at his companion.

“Oi, you up there!”

Maji whinnied from up ahead. A rumbling sound, accompanied by the shout, alerted him to a third presence. Taiga turned around, seeing a horse-drawn carriage lumbering towards them, and a waving hand from its occupant. He looked harder, the creases on his forehead softening. “…Kiyoshi?”

“Who?” Aomine asked quickly, his eyes narrowing again. Taiga glared at him, and waved as energetically as he could at the carriage to stop. “Kagami, that’s a—“

“Don’t talk,” Taiga said, through clenched teeth. “I know him.”

Kiyoshi, for his part, didn’t seem at all surprised by their appearance, though Taiga thought he caught a shadow of something in his eyes when Maji trotted towards them. “Ah, Kagami - did you get in a fight? We were expecting you earlier—”

“Kiyoshi-san. There was…some trouble,” Taiga admitted, shooting another look at Aomine, who was already standing next to Maji, a hand resting protectively on Kise’s back. “He, um, _we_ need Aida-san’s help. Please.”

“Ah.” Kiyoshi smiled at Aomine politely. At least that was what it seemed—though at this point, Taiga could really care less. “A friend? Well, you’re lucky you met me. Hyuuga sent me out for some last-minute shopping three days ago.”

Aomine looked like he was going to explode. _Good_ , Taiga thought, and he indicated at Maji. “Can we…?” 

“You’ll all fit. The horse can follow along, hm?” 

“…Right.”

As soon as Aomine got comfortable in the back of the carriage, surrounded by crinkling paper packages, he sat stubbornly in a corner. “…You know this guy’s an ayakashi, right?”

“He isn’t going to _eat_ us,” Taiga growled at him in hushed tones, though he still glanced up at said driver when he spoke. He was humming some tune— _I hope he hasn’t heard us_ , Taiga thought, his stomach again making an ungainly noise. “He’s Aida-san’s…personal bodyguard.”

“Huh.” Aomine said. He turns towards the wall and doesn’t say another word. Taiga watches him thread fingers through Kise’s hair absentmindedly, the motions of his fingers making a strange lump in his throat. 

There wasn’t anything he could say, really. 

Bumpy roads were never enough for him to stay awake, and with the fatigue of the previous night’s adventures, he yawned. Creaking wheels lulled him, bit by bit, to sleep.

 

 

 

_Kagami-kun._

 

“…?”

 

(The voice sounded familiar, and there was an audible sigh.)

 

_Please forgive me. I was hoping you would remember me, but ah…_

 

“—!”

 

“You!’

 

_Yes. I know you miss your brother._

 

(His heart stilled.)

 

“Of course I do—wait, why are you telling me this? Was he sick and not telling me? Is that why he—? Tell me—”

 

 _It is not my place to say. However, he is doing well._  

 

“Doing well?”

 

(Is he still alive, somewhere?)

 

_I must go now._

 

“Wait! Tell me more! And what about this—Aomine, what about them? Where’s Kise?”

 

(Silence. Then, an audible tremble in the voice.)

 

_That is for Aomine-kun himself to know. Goodbye, Kagami-kun. I cannot stay any longer._

 

“Wait—!“

 

 

 

“Kagami, what the hell?”

Groggily, Taiga sat up, rubbing his forehead. Blurred images came into focus, in the form of an irritated Aomine staring at him from outside the carriage. Kise and the packages were gone, and he was slumped against the wooden door. “…Aomine?”

“You were groaning, I thought you were gonna die,” the other man pointed out, matter-of-fact. “Something about not falling into a river.”

“River…” He looked down; the jade was pleasantly warm against his skin. He tried to recall the conversation—dream?—but only fragments of the voice came back. _Tatsuya is doing well._ He looked past Aomine’s shoulder, seeing the wooden beams of a familiar-looking house. “We’re here?”

Aomine grunted impatiently. “I’m not going inside. I don’t know anyone, and Kiyoshi’s gone somewhere.”

“What about Kise?”

Taiga watched him storm off, muttering something entirely incomprehensible. He could already feel his headache increasing.


	6. Kise II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a side note, the main POV's will still be Aomine, Kise and Kagami, but I've also planned some extra POV's to be interspersed within the main ones with potentially a chapter or two dedicated to another character/s. There are ... Reasons.

“Hey, Shin-chan, come look at this.”

The voice echoed through the hallways, past gold-plated beams and bouncing off bare stone walls. In the garden a man stood, looking up at the dark sky. His eyes followed the movements of the clouds, noting the speed and direction of each. But today the winds were irregular, scattering them in all directions in a most inauspicious manner. The man sighed.

It was never going to get any brighter here, was it.

“Takao, it’s almost time to hold court.” His voice held the slightest hint of disapproval even as he stepped lightly over the smooth rocks in the direction the other voice had came from. “Whatever it is can wait.”

“But there’s someone  _interesting_  with Kuroko!” A head of dark hair poked out through one of the doorways. “Come on, Midorima- _sama_. I think you’d want to see.”

“…Don’t call me that.” He’d almost raised his voice at Takao’s almost-certainly-a-jibe, but it would be unseemly for someone of his station to do so in public. And Midorima defined  _public_  as anyplace but his private quarters. Instead he just adjusted his glasses as he stepped into the room, glaring down at Takao’s sprawled form on the mats. A glare so unsuccessful that the other man simply started laughing, causing heat to rise up in his cheeks. “What is it?”

For what it was worth, Takao stopped when he pointed at the mirror on his desk. “Look.”

It took Midorima several seconds to see just exactly  _what_  Takao had seen, though once he grasped the meaning of it he felt a migraine start to form. His mouth twitched. “I see. As long as he follows protocol…I will have to review the procedures, it has been a while.”

“We don’t get these a lot, do we?” The edges of Takao’s eyes crinkled as he reached over Midorima’s feet to open a drawer. “In here?”

“Yes.” Midorima bent down, instantly locating the scroll—the only one slightly yellowed, enough to make him pause and sniff—which he plucked out and laid flat on the desk. He would have to file a special report afterwards, as much as he did not like doing so, though the bigger question at the moment lay in  _whom_  he should even file it to. Specifically, the  _only_  person he could file it to had vaguely insinuated at their last meeting that he was not accepting any. Perhaps he ought to ask outright next time… “Thank you. And no, we don’t. There’s a reason, you remember.”

Takao made no motion to move as Midorima sat down next to him, fingers flying over the glowing words on the page. He glanced at the mirror once more, voice dipping as reached up to touch Midorima’s sleeve. “I wonder why Kuroko’s doing this.”

“He's always had preposterous ideas.” Midorima started to unwrap the tape from his left hand meticulously, all the while keeping an eye on the contents of the mirror. “Considering the circumstances.”

He placed his fingers on the cool surface of the mirror, distorting the image until another face came into view. “Miyaji-san? Please tell Kasamatsu-san to bring Kuroko’s next guest up from the bamboo grove.”

“You sure about that?” Miyaji made a face. “He’s not gonna be happy.”

“I am sure.”

Underneath the desk Takao hummed and played with Midorima’s bright yellow-and-pink sash. There was no accounting for taste even when one was the deputy judge of the underworld, though he suspected with some certainty that this was today’s lucky item. Not that it was enough to ward off Kuroko’s surprise cargo. “At least this will be entertaining, won’t it?”

“Are you mocking me, Takao?” But there was no edge in his voice, and Midorima only lightly pushed his probing hands away. “If you aren’t doing anything later, please locate Mayuzumi for me. I cannot seem to reach him.”

Takao snorted. “He’s like that. But fine, fine—ask him to find Akashi, yeah?”

“Mm.” A slight flush creeped up his cheeks as Takao sat up straight, kissing his forehead lightly before standing up to leave. Outside, the wind rattled the wooden beams above, reminding him that both he and this building were both far beyond the age to be lending too much feeling into such matters. And yet. “…Though I would not be surprised if Akashi already knows.”

 

* * *

 

“Will he be awake?”

At first he thought Kuroko hadn’t heard. So, after a few moments, Ryouta tried again. “Kuroko—“

“Technically,” the ferryman cut in suddenly, his voice amplified on the misty expanse of the river. “You took his place. So, yes. Aomine and his—he will be fine.”

The boat was deeper than he’d thought it would be, though Ryouta would not know either way; this was the first time he’d been on one. Still, he was tall enough to be able to look around without having to resort to standing like Kuroko was. So he looked down, musing that for a river that purportedly carried numerous passengers into the underworld on a daily basis, the waters were strangely still.

Then, something struck him. “And  _who_?”

Murky yellow parted easily beneath the bow, perhaps the only movement on the surface apart from the oar that broke past it again and again, swift beneath Kuroko’s deft fingers. Ryouta stared at him, at the river, at the hint of something red wound around the shorter male’s wrist, striking against his pale skin. He reached out and grabbed at the hem of Kuroko’s robes, voice low. “Did someone come in after me?”

Kuroko glanced down at him briefly. “It is nothing to worry about. They are fine.”

“They?” He remembered the flash of red in the room he’d seen before waking up here. Ryouta felt his stomach plummet. “No, I have to go back then—“

“Kise-kun.” There was a tone of finality to Kuroko’s voice, though Ryouta could detect a tremble in his name. “Please. Aomine-kun is not with an enemy.”

“How would you know that?” Ryouta could hear his own voice sharpen, knifelike, and this time he  _did_  stand up. He made a move to grab at Kuroko, who ducked, and the boat rocked dangerously. Not enough for either of them to fall over, but enough for some water to splash inside. Ryouta took a precarious step back to avoid being drenched, and found himself being menaced by the tip of Kuroko’s oar. It was unnerving how his expression hadn’t seemed to change, though these movements surely weren’t ones he usually took. Surely Ryouta wasn’t the only one to have given him trouble before— 

He took a deep breath, this time trying a winning smile. “Okay, okay. Let me ask again. How  _do_  you know.” 

Kuroko lowered the oar, letting it hit the bottom of the boat. It was more a sound of exhaustion than anything, and he tugged at the string around his arm as he spoke. “I have no doubt you are worried, Kise-kun, but please do realize that I can see things you don’t. Aomine-kun is alive and well, and will continue being alive and well until a decision is reached by the court.”

“You should’ve just said it clearly, you know!” 

An unimpressed stare was bestowed upon him as Kuroko lowered the oar into the water once more. “Is this the kind of tone you use with the spirits?”

Ryouta huffed, plopping down on the wooden bottom once more, eyes roving to where Kuroko stood. There was no natural sunlight here, but the rolling fog that obscured much of everything stopped short of their boat. He watched Kuroko’s faint shadow move about as the ferryman got into position once more. “You want me to be more respectful? I’ll—I’ll call you Kurokocchi then!”

“…Kise-kun, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

_Do you think I understand this situation more than you do?_

Instead he just leaned back, smiling thinly. “Well, neither do I.”

If having to deal with Kuroko’s cryptic words was the only obstacle to getting  _there_ , he was going to have to deal with it. The river seemed to go on forever, stretching far beyond the scope of any real-life river Ryouta had ever known. If it was even an actual river—whatever water that had splashed in previously had long since evaporated. For now, Kuroko seemed content on ignoring him.

Ryouta closed his eyes.

A floral scent, sweet and cloying, worked its way into his senses, clinging to his face in an aromatic mask as he sat up, disoriented. “Kurokocchi, what’s that—“

Kuroko wasn’t there.

Golden eyes widened to the sight of the empty bow, and his first reaction was to scramble backwards.

“Kurokocchi? This isn’t—”

Was this some test? The smell was getting stronger, powerful and dizzying. He blinked slowly, gaze sharpening on vague patches of red beyond the mist. A sound of waves—waves? Beyond the mist and red he could just make out the unmistakable line of the shore.

Surely Kuroko had just gotten ashore ahead of time with some weird magic, and this was some sort of ruse to get back at him. Ryouta attempted to stand and get a better look at what it was— _anything_ —but quickly found himself unable. 

_“Kuro…ko…!”_

The last syllable left his mouth as a choked whisper as he felt his throat constrict, the floral scent filling his nose and mouth with a sensation of sticky sweetness even as he started to spiral.  _No, I can’t stop here._  His left ear burned, burned, burned—

A voice, pulled from the deepest recesses of his nightmares, screamed:  _You can’t._

_Who?_  Ryouta wanted to ask, grasping at the dark.  _Are you talking to me? Kuroko, is that you?_

_Daiki, is that you?_

 

_…Do you really not know me, Kise Ryouta?_

 

_I am part of you._

 

* * *

 

_“I’m Daiki,” the boy says, his wide smile infectious. Ryouta instantly throws the beating he received earlier to the back of his mind._

_They spend the rest of the day talking, chasing nothing, flinging flowers and dirt and hoozuki bells at each others’ heads. Daiki tells him about the village, about Satsuki, about his learning in the shrine. Ryouta talks about himself under a curious gaze._

_“We don’t really go near the village much,” he says. “My sisters don’t let me.”_

_Daiki tilts his head. “Why?”_

_At this Ryouta bites his lip, looking down. “They said the villagers don’t like us, but I don’t know why. I think ... they’re afraid of us.”_

_He hears Daiki laugh and freezes._

_“Ryouta?”_

_“…”_

_“I’m not afraid of you.” He pats Ryouta’s back. “You’re not as awesome as I am.”_

_Ryouta stares at him, indignant, and stands up as Daiki starts to run. “What? Daiki’s so mean!”_

_“Haha, I—ow! I was just kidding!”_

_They chase each other around the clearing again, throwing pebbles at each other. Daiki’s aim is good, but Ryouta picks up two for every one he throws at the blond. At last, exhausted, they collapse on top of each other, laughing._

_“Is everyone in the village like this?” He finally asks, panting, as he rolls away from their heap. “Apart from those guys.“_

_“Nah, Shougo’s always been like that,” Daiki replies, wrinkling his nose. “I dunno. I just play with Satsuki, mostly.”_

_“Oh.” Ryouta blinks up at the sky, shielding himself with an arm from the glaring noontime sun. “This is the first time I’ve played with anyone my age.”_

_“Really?” His companion crawls over to him, sprinkling bits of grass on Ryouta’s stomach. Ryouta bats his hand away, grinning. “I can’t imagine being cooped up all day. You like it?”_

_“I like it,” he smiles. “I like you, Daikicchi.”_

_“What’s that you’re calling me?”_

_“I dunno,” Ryouta answers, giggling, and Daiki cannot help but start too. “It sounds right to me. I can call you Daikicchi, right?”_

_“Sure, go ahead.”_

_“I’m glad.”_

_Ryouta opens his mouth to say more, but suddenly Daiki is on top of him, his hands around Ryouta’s neck. Confused, he tries to pry the boy’s arms away, but they would not budge. “What are you doing—“_

_And then he is not Daiki anymore, but Ryouta, looking back at his own deep golden eyes, with a laugh much older than his own. “Do you not know me?”_

_“Who?” Ryouta asks, fearful, lost—and then he knows. “No—please—“_

_“Twenty years,” the other Ryouta whispers, and plunges a hand into his chest._

 

* * *

 

He heard a crack. Water splashed over his face, stinging his eyes. Ryouta gasped as someone shook him gently, and he rolled around, bumping his head against the walls of the boat.

“Kise-kun, are you alright?”

“Kurokocchi?”

“I’m sorry,” Kuroko’s voice was clearer now, and Kise blinked blearily up at the ferryman’s impassive face. Except it wasn’t so impassive anymore—the blond could see some sign of relief in those eyes. “I should have told you about the flowers.”

 “Flowers?”

“Look ashore.” Ryouta watched him wave away the mist, which parted to reveal a sea of red. Even from a distance Ryouta could see their petals fluttering in the wind, thin red spidery petals that moved in mesmerizing motion. Behind him, Kuroko gently turned his face away. “Their scent reminds the dead of their pasts.”

_If you are lost here, you are lost forever._  The words remained unsaid as the mist settled again, and Ryouta sits up straight, clutching at the clammy wetness of his collar. He forced his ragged breathing to settle, eyes trained on Kuroko’s arm. “Thank you.”

“Please don’t mention it, Kise-kun.” They could see the shoreline now, a wooden pier where another boat was moored, bobbing up and down in the yellow waters.  _Why are there two boats when there is only one ferryman?_  Kise wondered, leaning over the edge to see. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have a plan.” He smiled at the half-turned Kuroko, and the burning in his ear returned. There seemed to be something stilling in the other’s face, but Ryouta was far too gone to care at this point.  _Yes, I know what to do now_. “Don’t worry about me, Kurokocchi. Worry about yourself.”

“Myself?”

“You’ve been playing with that red—“ Ryouta’s hand stopped halfway, hovering between himself and Kuroko. The boat nudged at the shoreline gently, rocking both of them. The bottom of Kuroko’s clothes were wet, though whether they were from the water he’d splashed on Ryouta or not was another matter. “Did you go somewhere?”

“…I’ve been here the whole time, Kise-kun.” This time Kuroko’s eyes betrayed nothing as he hopped overboard onto the pier, the creak of wooden boards dangerously loud. Ryouta stood watching the ferryman tying the craft to one of the poles. He sniffed; the scent of the flowers seemed to linger, a sweet phantom scent that would not dissipate.

His legs wobbled as he climbed up the pier, as if he had been on the boat for an eternity and had forgotten how to walk.  _How does time even pass here?_  He wondered, realizing that these were all questions unasked. But it was too late, now that Kuroko had taken to lying. Though it was not like Ryouta was gracious enough to drop the subject now that they had crossed the river. “Kurokocchi, you’re not a very good liar.”

“That had nothing to do with you,” Kuroko replied, his voice cool. Behind him, where the walkway stretched further into the mist, Ryouta could see a faint light moving their way. “We each have our own concerns, do we not?”

“Well,” Ryouta began, watching Kuroko fidget the red string back up his sleeve, a dull glint of something pearlescent briefly catching his eye. “If we’re all honest with ourselves—”

“Kasamatsu-san.” Their attention was diverted to the moving light, who now Ryouta could see was someone holding a lantern. The someone looked important enough, his thick eyebrows raised at the sight of Ryouta. “Here he is.”

“Ah. Well, I expected—” He stalled, at a loss for words. “Something different.”

“What?” Ryouta puffed up his cheeks at the perceived slight. Kuroko sighed. “Hey, is there something else you’re keeping from me?”

“No, Kise-kun, it’s just…”

“Kise Ryouta, right? Twenty years old, son of Hayato and Manami? Well, you’ll be following me.” Kasamatsu peered at him from behind the lantern. “I’ll explain. As for you, Kuroko, I think Midorima wants—”

“I apologize, I have work to do.”

And then Ryouta could not see him anymore.

“Damn him,” Kasamatsu muttered after a few seconds. sucking in air. The mist swirled around them, cool and moist against Ryouta’s face. “Got no respect for his elders.”

“Huh?”

“And you.” As if he didn’t hear, Kasamatsu started walking back down the path he came, motioning with a hand. Ryouta obeyed immediately, not wanting to be left behind. “Don’t stand there looking like a befuddled frog. You’ve got some nerve asking for an audience with the judge, you know.”

“Well, Kurokocchi said someone else did it before, so I figured—“

“That what he said?” 

A note of derision in his tone made Ryouta stop and look up, the dark blue of Kasamatsu’s kimono almost hidden in the thickening mist. He could still see the bright crimson of those flowers lining the path—but there was no sweet smell anymore, no young Daiki playing in the grass or Ryouta threatening to strangle himself, no burning sensation in his ear. The lantern glowed bright yellow, warm and strange all at once. “Was he lying?”

“No,” Kasamatsu said gruffly. The mist seemed to amplify his voice, sending it vibrating all around them. “But I don’t suppose Kuroko told you, Kise, that the other person had been  _himself_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't shoehorn in a titledrop so randomly in-fic, so a source instead: [lycoris radiata](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lycoris_radiata#Legends)
> 
> also idk about yall but i find the fact that you still have to go through governmental red tape when you're dead hilarious (and terrible like. Honestly.)


	7. Aomine III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back to (grad) school for me now and I can't understand a single thing in class, so further updates will come at intervals where I've given up on homework :').
> 
> Lots of new characters and hints here ... ! The next chapter should be longer and have everyone finally be on the same page ... sorry for the wait! ;_;

In some ways, Seirin reminded Daiki of his own village. The way they prepared for the upcoming festival was just as hectic, with villagers hurrying everywhere taking down clotheslines fluttering behind buildings, carrying drums and tables and passing Daiki without even a glance at him. Above him lanterns were strung on strings leading to the raised wooden _yagura_ at the heart of the village, their papery shells pale in the noontime sun. Come night and they would be lit and their colors flared, and the entire settlement could probably be seen and heard for miles. For three days and three nights, or however long this particular part of the country does it, there would be lit fires and dancing, and Seirin would be no exception.

But he was of no mind to think about these festivities, now.

Kagami had been ushered into the shrine with Ryouta almost as soon as he’d woken up, leaving Daiki pacing like a caged cat outside. The attendants had fed him but had also forbidden him to enter; who were they to stop him, anyway? He leaned against a wall, wringing his hands. Ryouta was—

“Hey, you. Aomine, right?”

Daiki looked up to see a bespectacled man, stern-faced, staring at him expectantly. He wore the _kesa_ of a monk, a string of pale rosary beads around his neck. “Riko wants to see you.”

“Who's—”

“Follow me.” 

“Why aren’t any of you fucking listening to me,” Daiki started to growl, but saw Kagami and a younger boy watching him from behind the closest building. He then shut up and followed the man, who seemingly hadn’t heard, down the well-trod path down to the village shrine, with the other two trailing behind. _Gods above_ , he thought. _Why me?_

Why Ryouta?

He _had_ done something incredibly rash, that he knew. Daiki could almost hear Satsuki’s reprimanding voice in the back of his head. And he did probably need that, as much as he hated to admit it. He did not look at either Kagami nor the other kid when the man opened the side gate and pulled him inside.

The courtyard and corridors were small but neatly kept, the scent of agarwood lightly dizzying. _Like home_ , he thought, and another pang of guilt found its way into his heart.

“Hyuuga-san,” the younger boy whispered from behind Daiki. He looked no older than seventeen. “May we come in too?”

“If you stay quiet,” Hyuuga grunted, and let Daiki, after he took off his sandals, through a side door. “Kagami, you too.”

The door shut. Daiki blinked once, twice, his eyes adjusting to the sudden dim light. Ryouta was laid out on the tatami mats, his arms laid neatly at his sides. The smell of incense was even heavier in this room, windowless save one small round opening near the ceiling. A woman knelt over him, a hand on his forehead; several others lingered in the background, lighting candles.

It felt _wrong_ , looking at Ryouta now, eyes shut and in a formal repose. Ryouta had always been a restless sleeper, grabbing onto Daiki’s sleeves or slapping a hand across his chest, tangling his legs. He thought about the times he’d woken up shivering or sweating from Ryouta stealing the covers or snuggling into his back, and felt a knot tighten inside him.

“What a time for this to happen,” he could hear someone say quietly in the back, and Daiki’s chest felt tight. Bon was for the dead to return briefly to the world of the living, a celebration that ended in sending those departed back again. He remembered seeing them, flimsy figures of translucent white shimmering in the noontime shade or in moonlight. But most of the time he didn’t want to see. And now all of the lectures he’d heard Satsuki’s father preach, all of the scrolls he’d had to painstakingly read, seemed like ghosts themselves flitting in and out of his mind. Did it really matter, in the end, when all he was good for was this?

He knelt next to Ryouta, and the miko frowned. Something about her face seemed familiar. “Can you leave that outside?”

“Is he a samurai?” One of the attendants whispered to Kiyoshi, who put up his hands and shrugged. Daiki shot him a look, and the kid seemed to shrink into the background. 

“Don’t scare him,” Kagami said, a little too loudly. He was wearing his sleeves rolled up, and, Daiki noted, he finally had on a proper bandage. He was also noticeably fidgeting as Daiki’s eyes met his, whether from the discomfort of being _here_ or something else the latter did not know.

“I’m not trying to.” He turned towards the woman, whose keen gaze was already reminding him of Satsuki. Maybe that was why. He touched the blade at his side. “You want me to leave it outside?”

“Please.”

Daiki untied his katana gingerly, handing it over to one of the attendants—the one who hadn’t said a word all day—who took it outside.

“He’ll guard the door. Don’t worry, Riko isn’t confiscating it,” said the other attendant, the one whose smile reminded Daiki of a cat.  He mumbled a sullen thanks in reply, turning his full attention back on Riko.

“So.”

“Ah,” she said, in a knowing way that conveyed nothing essential. Daiki moved forward, annoyed, and met her gaze. “You really don’t remember me.”

“Do I have reason to?”

“Be respectful,” Hyuuga growled from the background, and Daiki wanted to hit him. All of these people were giving him a headache. Riko raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter right now.” She lifted her hand from Kise’s forehead. “But to get to the point, I’m sure you’ve noticed his soul isn’t in this world anymore.”

“I know.”

Riko pursed her lips. “I cannot locate him at the moment, but there _is_ someone arriving later who may be able to. Kagami told me you were attacked by bandits? Do you remember what happened?”

 _Do I remember what happened?_ Daiki could taste an acrid bitterness at the back of his throat, a taste at once foreign and familiar. “One of them almost got Ryouta. I used kotodama. I killed him.”

Somewhere in the back of the room there was a gasp, but Daiki could not, and did not care to discern who it was. “I bled, I passed out. I don’t know how long it was, but when I woke this—he—Kagami. Kagami was there. I tried waking Ryouta, but…”

His voice _was_ shaking, and he didn’t look up. He didn’t know anyone in this room, and none of them had cause to love him or Ryouta. The last thing Daiki wanted to see was being the recipient of pitying looks from strangers, and _how_ —

“Aomine-kun.”

Riko’s voice, surprisingly stern, jolted him out of his thoughts. “That sounds like something Kagami-kun here would do, no, worse. Reckless, _stupid_ —how could you ever think that was a good idea? The powers given to us aren’t to be used like this. I’d have thought Satsuki—”

Aomine stared at her, ignoring the garbled, indignant sound Kagami was making in the background. It was not an uncommon name, but…

She stopped, biting her lip, and took a deep breath. “That…is for later. I _am_ sorry, Aomine-kun. All I know is that Kise is most likely somewhere along the Sanzu. I don’t foresee his condition worsening for the moment, unless there is something else you would like to tell me?”

Her words slid off his being like fallen leaves, but Daiki caught enough to start understanding. The question of Satsuki could come later. “No, I…don’t think so. Can I just be alone with him, for a moment?” 

“As you wish.”

They filed out of the room one by one. Kagami lingered for the longest, taking his time to dither about looking for something, until Daiki finally had enough. “Kagami, would you fucking _please_ —“

“He spoke to me, you know,” the redhead blurted out; then, in a smaller voice, “Not Kise, I mean the guy...spirit, who took him.”

“He what?”

“When I was out on the cart.” Kagami seemed obviously uncomfortable, but Daiki was in no mood to wait around for reasons. “Don’t look at me like that! I tried to ask. He sounded like…he wanted you to go look for him…or something. So hurry.” 

He was out the room before Daiki could yell after him, though by the time the door closed Daiki realized he didn’t even know _what_ he had been wanting to say. That he’d had enough of this cryptic tiptoeing around. But Kagami didn’t seem like the sort of person who would intentionally withhold important information, the way he blurted out words without thinking.

_He wants me to look for Ryouta?_

“That’s just what I’m gonna do,” Daiki whispered into the empty room.

 

 

 _Concentrate_.

Daiki can hear Ryouta’s shallow breathing, the slow but steady thumping of his heart. The room fizzled before his eyes, the dim candlelight reflecting off still-wet ink on his hands. 

He had never tried to cross the river before, having had no reason nor want to, and Satsuki’s father had never had reason to show him how to. There were stringent laws the onmyou-ryo placed on what students and teachers alike could know, but the emperor was, as the saying went, as far away as heaven itself. 

And Daiki was not going to heaven. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on Ryouta’s bare chest.

_I need this to work._

At first there was nothing but darkness, the kind that was a little fuzzy around the edges. There were still sounds coming in from outside—distant shouting, footsteps, the clatter of bowls. A prickly feeling traveled up his arm from the tips of his fingers, warm and soothing, but very faint. Daiki took a deep breath and leaned forward—

 

—he was outside, watching the sun go down. The world was hazy now, bathed in a grayish mist. Daiki frowned; he could still see the village, the hurrying of its inhabitants between houses, a trickle of guests from afar. Already some had changed into their outfits for the night. Voices rose and fell, strange and familiar alike, but none of them had the _quality_ that Kagami had mentioned before. Daiki could pick out Kagami's voice, and Riko's, hearing fragments of sentences— _are you sure that's who it was?_ and _we must be careful during the dance_  and _shit, I knew should've never gone there, I'm_ —

He felt vaguely uncomfortable, staring at these people through a lens that was not meant to be looked through, and vaguely elated that he _could_. _There is someone arriving later, who may be able to._

He looked down at his hands and the ink bleeding into his skin, the outlines of Ryouta’s name, and knew there would be nobody else.

When Daiki looked up again, the river stretched out before him, so wide that he could not see where the far shore was. The mist hung heavier here, clinging to his body— _was_ he in his body, now, that was a question of technicality—and he could see that the water was a murky yellow. Straining, he could spot dark shadows moving about in its depths, moving silently away from shore as soon as he approached. He could see no reflection of himself, and yet the river was without a single wave. Daiki had long since given up on finding out the  _why_ in onmyoudo in favor of _what_ he could do, though the direction  _that_ particular sort of thinking had recently taken him in made him hesitate nonetheless. This was no place for a mortal to be, practitioner or not.

But he _had_ to try.

“Ryouta?”

It was as if talking through a film of silk. Daiki took another step forward, bolder this time. The air wavered in front of him, and he caught a glimpse of movement. 

“You don’t belong here.”

He jumped; upon looking around, there was nothing to be seen save a sprinkle of red that momentarily peeked through the mist on the other side. “—Who’s there?” 

“Not yet, anyway.”

Invisible arms grabbed at him, touching his face, groping at his sides. Daiki yelped, then elbowed and pushed back wildly at the sudden assault. Was the _mist_ attacking him? “What the—?”

Someone sighed behind him, quietly disgruntled. “Stop struggling.”

“Who the hell are you?”

If this was the spirit that Kagami had talked about, perhaps Daiki would’ve been a little more polite. But he could instinctively tell that was not the case. He could not sense Ryouta’s presence, which had always been easy to pick out once he put his mind to it—warm, playful, a hint of slyness beneath. Here he was only met with cold and annoyance. He lashed out, and felt a sting where the back of his hand connected. “Tch…you’re really something.”

Another tug, much stronger this time, and Daiki found himself being pushed forward, hurling through a space that was getting harder and harder to breathe in. There were voices—

 

_...What are you doing here._

_Aren't you supposed to be happy? You wanted to see me anyway. I hope you didn’t hurt him too much, Chihiro._

_Shut up, that was self-defense. They should’ve sent someone stronger if this was going to be a real fight. Himuro, maybe._

_A little too close for that, I'd say…_

 

Daiki caught a glimpse of red hair— _Kagami?_ he thought, _but he's back in Seirin_ —and in the next second, steely grey eyes. The wind whipped around him, drawing even those away into the dark as he yelled out Ryouta’s name one last time.

 

(Flowers grew from the back of his mind, burying him in memory; he could see Ryouta’s face, half-turned, the light catching on a single blue earring. Only months ago were they simply two boys who knew nothing but still vowed to leave and never look back. To forget about the whispers and rumors and angered faces,  _oh my gods, why won't they let me know, I was six years old when the village burned, and Ryouta lost his..._

Neither of them were supposed to end up here. Daiki reached out, and his arms were bouquets of red, never reaching far enough to touch—)

 

 _"—_ Aominecchi?"

 

 

Then he was back, gasping, sprawled on top of Ryouta’s unmoving body. Someone was in the room with them, he realized, before he was promptly yanked backwards. The sudden light of a candle close to his face made his head swim. And Daiki found himself staring at the ceiling, or would be, if a very familiar face hadn't been staring right back at him.

“…Dai-chan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onmyou-ryo: onmyoudo was actually strictly regulated in the past by the imperial court, as in who could and couldn't study it, what they could study, etc., and the onmyou-ryo was the body that oversaw these procedures.
> 
> there wasn't (technically) a whole lot of travel going on between villages/towns during the edo period because of class and social regulations. but of course there are exceptions, and religious persons didn't really factor into the hierarchy that well either. :'3


	8. Kagami III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter also known as: way too much happens in kagami's mind & aomine stop wasting ur fucking life points i s2g

_The sound of rain outside, pattering loudly on the tiles, is what wakes him._

_He is fifteen now, much too old to run to his mother when thunderstorms hit, and neither of his parents are in town today in any case. The spring storms had come early this year, and Taiga shivers underneath his covers. He wonders if Tatsuya is awake._

_Though Tatsuya is his adopted brother and nearly five years older, they are close—and besides, Tatsuya had just come back for a break from his studies in Nagasaki. Taiga doesn’t know when he will leave again, and the more time spent together the better, right?_

_He tiptoes out of his room, ignoring the servant nodding off beside the sliding door. A brief flash of lightning illuminates the hallway, and he rushes forth, the thunder masking his footsteps. Would Tatsuya think his dream stupid if Taiga tells him? He can’t recall all the details, but he does remember another boy around his age, and water…so much water…_

_Taiga approaches his brother’s room, and there are voices._

_“…remembered it, only in fragments. Now I do. If_ that _is what this life was for, Kuroko…I wish I had been given more time.”_

_“I understand. Is there someone outside? I thought—”_

_“Servants, maybe. I have a brother here, but he should be asleep.”_

_“Ah…it should not matter then. If you are ready…“_

_Taiga, ever curious now, pushes open the door to Tatsuya’s room, and sees his dream come to life._

 

 

_“Come with me then, Himuro Tatsuya.”_

 

 

_“…Welcome back.”_

 

* * *

 

Something wet was touching his face. 

Taiga opened his eyes to Maji’s mouth plastered on and moving across his entire right cheek. He didn’t know horses _kissed_ people, and this was close to the absolute worst way to find out. “Hey you—stop! _Stop_! Didn’t I feed you already?”

“H-hey, are you feeling alright?”

Furihata’s face peeked out from behind the corner, staring at him anxiously. Maji snorted and moved out of the way for Taiga to scramble up and pat down his clothes to get rid of the dust and grass sticking everywhere. The pouch he’d tied to the saddle was half-open from where he’d taken out some belongings earlier, and he reached forward as Furihata continued. “Aida-san told me to come get you, but if you’re still tired—”

“Wha—wait, no, I’ll go. She’ll be mad if I don’t…right?”

“I think she wants to know more about your arm…”

He patted Maji’s mane awkwardly, then bent down to pick up the scattered objects that had dropped to the ground. “You…stay here, alright? I’ll be back.”

Upon walking out, Taiga could see that there were more people milling about, some whom he hadn’t seen before. That was normal, as the festivities would be commencing soon—but he could tell that some were outsiders. Usually villages kept to themselves in times like these, though as small as Seirin was perhaps they had hired help. Besides, Riko had talked about someone coming later to look at Kise.

_—I wish I had been given more time._

Taiga was sure he had dreamed about Tatsuya again, this time with in even more vivid detail. It had all shattered into smoking fragments as soon as he’d woken, though that particular sentence stuck to him, as Tatsuya’s back had, along with the blurred face of the man who’d taken him. _Blue hair._ The pendant was strangely warm against his chest at the thought. If only he could remember the name…

He shook his head. Why was he getting so invested in this again? The dead don’t come back to life—that was what his parents had said. Even with the increased frequency of these dreams, which he attributed to weariness on the road. But the mere fact that whoever it was that took Ryouta had definitively said _Tatsuya is doing well…_

“Kagami!” 

“Eh?” He almost bumped into Furihata, who had stopped in the middle of his tracks for two others to approach. “Oh, it’s you guys. What’s going on?”

“You aren’t gonna go meet the guests dressed like that, are you?” Koganei said, thrusting a bundle of clothes at Taiga. “Kiyoshi said you could borrow his stuff for now.”

Hastily Taiga got into the yukata the others had brought—robes the color of the sky, interwoven with wavelike patterns. The color clashed terribly with his hair, but this was only for whoever was coming. It wasn’t as if anyone else here would give a damn about what he wore, anyway. 

Seirin had been his mother’s village, years before he was born. This was a strange place in many ways, not least the fact that humans and youkai lived side by side here, but it had always provided a helping hand for travelers. And Taiga’s father had been one of those, lost after his party had been set upon by bandits. 

(The rest was history, really—Taiga’s grandparents had greatly disapproved, but the fact that there was already an adopted grandson from another well-to-do daimyo family was apparently reason enough to turn a blind eye. Not so the other families, as rumor persisted about his mother’s past as a shrine-maiden, and even now his parents lived apart more often than they were together. The half year law was in place, yes, but even then…)

 _Whatever_ , Taiga thought, as he approached the small crowd gathering in front of Hyuuga’s house, footsteps feeling unusually light. He saw Riko talking animatedly to Kiyoshi, who didn’t look like he was listening quite as hard as he should be. Hyuuga was yelling _at_ his roof—Taiga looked up, and saw an eagle there, fluffing up its feathers and squawking animatedly back at him. “Oi, this is serious business! Get down here before I climb up there and—”

“Hyuuga, can you be a little quieter—“

“Yeah, stop making a _spectacle_ of yourself,” came a voice from above, which earned the eagle an almighty glare from the monk. Taiga dragged a hand down his face.

“Izuki hasn’t changed much, has he…”

Furihata nodded. “I hope Hyuuga-san doesn’t exorcise him like he threatened to last time…”

“Kagami! Over here!” Finally they seemed to have spotted the rest of the attendants, and Taiga jogged over, feeling much replenished from the enormous lunch he’d cleared away while his wound was being cleaned earlier. Though with the look Riko was giving him, he was probably about to hear something terrible. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt anymore, thanks to you…and Aomine, I guess.” He pushed the collar down clumsily, exposing the thin bandaging around his shoulder. “You know what it was he gave me?”

“I see.” Riko pursed her lips, then sighed. “I don’t, as a matter of fact, but it worked very well nevertheless. At least he still knows how to use whatever’s been given him. But enough about that—you didn’t tell me who you were attacked by.”

“Eh?” Taiga thought back, wincing at the night’s memories. “His name was Hanamiya, I think. Some kind of spider…youkai. There were definitely more than one of those bastards.” 

“Hanamiya…?” The atmosphere changed perceptibly, and Riko exchanged a worried glance with Kiyoshi. “Are you sure that’s who it was?”

“That is a problem,” Hyuuga chimed in, in a quieter voice this time. “We’ve been getting reports from passerby’s that there’s a tsuchigumo infestation several villages away. That’s why there aren’t as many people coming this year.”

“We must be careful during the dance, then,” Riko said firmly, though with all the chatter that was going on she might as well have said _look, you’ve brought even more trouble to us_. Taiga rubbed at the back of his head, trying very hard not to feel guilty as they continued debating the merits of sending both Kiyoshi and Izuki to strengthen the barrier along the village boundaries. Koganei and Mitobe had already gone on ahead to help the other villagers with setting up the stage, leaving Taiga to feel more and more useless by the minute. _What can I even do?_

“Riko!”

An unfamiliar voice brought his attention to the path. A pink-haired young woman, her smile dazzling, strode across the grass towards them. There was something moving about on her shoulder—a cat? Taiga looked closer, and saw that it was a weasel, dark brown. It scuttled down to the grass as soon as she came up to them, crouching nervously behind her. He looked at Riko, and her face held all sorts of relief, though her voice did not show it.

“I thought you would be here earlier, Satsuki-chan.”

“Ah, I’m sorry! There were a few issues along the way…weren’t there, Sakurai?” The weasel nodded furiously, and Taiga’s suspicions were confirmed when it suddenly became a nodding, anxious-looking young man around his own age. Satsuki flicked a speck of something off her shoulder. “People were coming up asking for help…something about a haunted temple, but neither of us could find it. That’s why it took so long.”

“A haunted temple?” The group looked at each other cluelessly. 

“Did they say what it was haunted by?” Taiga ventured, and all eyes turned to him. “I passed two temples on the way…”

“Don’t tell me it’s spiders too,” Hyuuga groaned, but Satsuki nodded vigorously, sweeping her arm towards the east where Taiga and Aomine had come through.

“That was when we hurried,” she explained, “because I thought you might need an extra hand. I would’ve gotten Dai-chan to come, too, but—”

She stopped mid-sentence, chewing on her lips, before Riko hesitantly placed an arm on her shoulder. “I think … I need to show you something.”

 

 

“They know each other?” Taiga asked, putting down the last wooden block. Beside him, Hyuuga grunted something unintelligible. “But if she knows Aomine, how long did it even take for him and Kise to—“

Izuki gives him a look and wildly gestures behind Hyuuga’s back, and he finally gets it. _Man, none of them have changed._

“So,” Kiyoshi says brightly, changing the subject in a way that Taiga could not tell was meaningful diversion or simply inability to read the atmosphere, “How was Nagasaki? That’s where you went, right?”

“Yeah.” He sits on top of the block, yawning. Half an hour had passed since Riko had taken Satsuki inside, and the fires along the perimeter of the village were already lit in the diminishing light. Mitobe and Koganei had disappeared into the Aida household kitchen to salvage what they could of the food; Taiga could feel his stomach yearning to join in. “Shit, I hated the reading. I had an interesting teacher though, um, I guess. She worked me really hard, that’s for sure.”

“The foreigners have female teachers…?”

Taiga shrugged. “Alex’s good at what she does. She’s the one who taught my brother too.”

“So what did you learn?” Kiyoshi pressed on. “Medicine? Calligraphy? A new language?”

His face reddened as he looked away. “Well, not exactly…”

“Don’t tell me she gave you martial art lessons,” Hyuuga said, eyebrow raised.

“Well, not exactly, but…she taught me how to fight, yeah.” 

“That’s _really_ cool,” Furihata piped up, from behind. Taiga smiled; Furihata had been thirteen the last time he’d come through Seirin. Now he was well on his way towards training to become a novice at the temple, along with two others. “Was the city big? Were you the only student there? ”

“I mean, for Alex…there _were_ other people, but for other teachers. There was this guy who came in after me though…wait, here.” He’d been clutching the object from earlier much harder than he thought, and it had left an imprint on his palm as he showed it to the group. “I dunno what it is, but Alex gave it to me right before I left.” 

Hyuuga picked up the milky stone, examining it closely. In the firelight it seemed to burn with a rainbow sheen. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Is this some kind of…western…charm?”

Taiga shrugged, thinking back to that day. “I was in a hurry to leave, so she didn’t say. She just told me her new student wanted for me to have it.”

“That’s really weird, you know.”

“Maybe it’s cursed,” Kiyoshi said sagely, and Hyuuga almost dropped the stone. Taiga stared at him. “You know, like…so _he_ can be the best student!”

“…I don’t even know why I talk to you.” Taiga reached over and took the stone back from Hyuuga, grumbling. He turned it over in his palm, thinking. "It's a pretty rock, that's all. Though I don't even remember bringing it with me on this trip in the first place."

“I was joking, you know.” _Of course you were_ , Taiga thought, but he saw the expression on Kiyoshi’s face. “This is the kind of thing you keep safe, Kagami. Like your pendant—”

“Hey! You guys!” 

They turned to see Riko standing beside the drums, hands on her hips. “It’s time.”

 

 

“Ready?” Hyuuga yelled down at the crowd gathered around the yagura. He raised a wooden bachi stick. “Get in position!”

“Go!”

It had been years and years since Taiga joined in on this festival outside Edo, where the performances were crowded and gigantic. He had used to weave around the crowds, chasing or being chased by Tatsuya as the lines of dancers swayed left and right, myriad voices booming to the beat of the drum. One year Tatsuya had managed to nick a pair of bachi from the drummers, and they’d mock-battled all down the main road until one of the guards had caught them and hauled both back to their parents.

Taiga smiled at the memory, even as he moved awkwardly to the music. Riko was the first one to start singing, then Izuki, and on and on and on…

 

_The dancers are fools,_

 

_The watchers are fools,_

 

_Both are fools,_

 

_So why not dance?_

 

Taiga was placed in the middle, between Koganei and Fukuda. Up ahead, he could see Aomine moving slowly and sullenly. Momoi Satsuki was beside him, dancing quite a bit more vigorously. He wondered what had gone on inside earlier; Aomine had come out looking more sober than he’d had all day. Maybe that was a good sign…

(He thought he’d caught sight of someone else with red hair for a moment, but the dancers all turned around, and Taiga had forgotten about it almost as soon as he tripped over Furihata next to him.)

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aomine slip away at the beginning of the last verse. 

“Hey!” Taiga broke formation, nodding apologetically to Fukuda who had almost fallen forward into his spot, and Sakurai who _had_ bumped into his back. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He followed the path down to the temple where Kise was with some uncertainty. Was Aomine planning to leave them behind to do something? If so—Taiga shook his head. This had been none of his business to begin with, but the fact that he was the one who suggested Aomine come here lay heavy on him. Taiga felt unease stir up inside him at the thought of Hanamiya from the earlier talk; coupled with what was happening to Kise, well…

“The hell are you doing following me?”

“Eh?!” He almost barged straight into Aomine, who was leaning against a pillar outside the door with Kise in it. The air was still inside, and the agarwood burned his nose. Aomine’s silhouette seemed to melt into the shadows in the dim candlelight. “I-I wasn’t—you left in the middle of the dance!”

Aomine snorted. “So did you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re not just gonna leave, are you?” Taiga ventured, after an embarrassing moment of silence. “Now that your friend is here—“

“I wasn’t gonna,” Aomine said, turning away. Taiga could see he had gotten his katana back. “Just wanted to check up on Ryouta. And the spider problem.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much about Seirin.”

That earned him a glare. “I don’t. I just want to make sure Ryouta’s body won’t be harmed while I’m gone.”

“So you _are_ leaving.” He couldn’t help but keep his voice accusatory. “You’re leaving him behind?”

“Why would I do that, idiot? And you—” Aomine took a step towards him, eyes narrowed. He pointed at Taiga’s chest. “That thing you’re wearing, who gave it to you?” 

“My brother—“

“Can I see it?”

Nonplussed, Taiga nevertheless undid the strings and held out the pendant for Aomine to see. The other man’s expression was hard to read in the dark. “This…I don’t suppose you know how to use it, do you?”

“Use—Aomine, this is _a piece of jewelry_.” Taiga could feel the heat crawl up his face as Aomine poked at the pendant in his hand. “I’m not a fucking onmyouji or monk or anything, in case _you_ haven’t noticed. Why does everyone expect me to know things I don’t?”

“Tch. Well, someone else sure did, otherwise you’d never have gotten this. Watch.”

Before Taiga could protest, Aomine picked up the pendant, dangling it between them. “We could use a little more light in here…”

 

『ひかり。』

 

“What the _hell_ —“ The pendant glowed faintly, and suddenly a bright ball of light was present, hovering between them in midair. He took a step back. “What did you just—“

Aomine dropped the pendant back into his open palm. “This is a conductor for spiritual power—which you, by the way, _do_ have. It’ll probably work better for you than for me. But like I said, you have no idea how to use it.”

“I…I didn’t…“ Taiga looked down at his hand, then back at Aomine. He had heard the other speak, somehow, but the words had slipped from his mind as soon as he'd put thought into it.  _Had Tatsuya known?_ “So that’s what happened with Hanamiya…”

“Right,” agreed Aomine, though Taiga was sure he had no idea what that was about. He didn’t budge, though, and his expression remained strange in the too-bright light. Taiga had a feeling he wasn’t telling everything. Coupled with what he’d just done… “The thing in your other hand, too. I think…”

“I’m just a one-person show-and-tell tonight, aren’t I.” 

The stone glittered even more brightly under the light that Aomine had summoned, spilling onto the wooden floorboards hues of red and gold, green and blue, and more. Yet Aomine was not looking at the colors. “…Did your brother also give this to you?”

“No? Why, is it some weird magic thing again?” 

Aomine gave him a look, and then words that chilled him to the bone. “It feels … it reminds me of the underworld.”

 

 

Taiga tried to focus on the dance, the last one of the night. He’d watched Aomine disappear through the back door of the temple to do… _something_ , and there had been no more questions after that. When they came back, everyone was having far too much fun to pay attention.

“Where are you even going?”

“You know what comes after this, right?” Aomine said, swaying to the beat. It was Izuki and Tsuchida’s turn on the drums now, and Taiga could see Kiyoshi’s head bobbing away at the front of the line. “Don’t tell me you don’t—“

“Shut up, of course I know. They’re gonna float lanterns.”

“That’s where I’m going.” 

Taiga blinked. Behind them, the music came to a stop, and cheers erupted from all around. He felt a hand tug at his arm. “Hm…?”

“Oh! I’m sorry—Kagami-kun?” Momoi was looking at him anxiously. “I need to borrow him for a bit—“

“No need, Satsuki.” Aomine yawned. “He’s coming with me.”

Taiga stiffened. "I'm _what_? Oi, you can't just decide for me—you haven't even told me everything yet!"

"Don't you want to find out more about that?" He jabbed a finger at Taiga's arm, which the redhead pulled away indignantly. "Or not. Hey, your call, but _I'm_  going to do what I have to. So, see ya."

"What kind of thanks is that?!" Taiga yelled at his retreating back, ignoring the people who were starting to stare. Momoi looked at Aomine's retreating back, then back at Taiga. "You...wouldn't know where he means to be going, do you?"

"Kagami-kun..." She pulled him aside, voice low. "I hate to ask you this when I don't know you, but from what Dai-chan told me...he's going to find Kise's soul."

"Good for hi—he wants _me_ to go with him?"

"I don't want him to go." Momoi's grip on his arm was terrifyingly strong, but Taiga was of no mind to push her away. He could only stare at her head from above, unsure. "Not alone, at least. That _was_ a stupid thing he did, and I _still_..."

"Momoi?"

"Will you go with him?" She looked away, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, asking so much of you...he brought so much trouble here, and Ki-chan...I would go with Dai-chan, but I'm needed here too. He told me, you know, about..."

"I..."

_I was hoping you would remember me._

The voice, wistful, swirled inside his mind. _Familiar_. And then it dissolved into a sharp gaze that lingered on his body, even as Taiga whipped his head around to see. There was nobody there, and yet.

"Is there something wrong, Kagami-kun?"

"No, there...isn't. Nothing's wrong." He could, however, hear his voice tremble. _No, I must find out. About Tatsuya, about...that person._ "I'll go."

 

The entire village seem to move as an entity down the road, walking, riding, or by some other form of transportation Taiga wasn’t entirely sure about and didn’t really want to know. Izuki and Hyuuga had volunteered to stay behind and watch over Kise, which left some fifty people participating in _toro nagashi_ , the floating of the lanterns.

 _And more_ , Taiga thought, his stomach a jumble of knots. Kiyoshi was carrying a little raft that Riko’s father had owned for quite a few years; it did not look very sturdy, but they were running on too little time. 

“This path will close for the year after today,” Momoi had cautioned them back in the village. “You will have to find another way back.”

She’d almost seemed like she was crying. Aomine had, very hesitantly, put a hand on her shoulder, and Taiga had taken that cue to take off from the scene.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this._

The pendant knocking against his chest was warm again, perhaps incensed by what they were about to do. Both of them would be leaving their katana behind—what good would mortal weapons be against spirits?

Taiga had unwillingly given the stone to Aomine for safekeeping, just because the other man had pockets. _Our ticket_ , he’d said, and Taiga had wondered _for what_. Beneath him Maji snorted and stamped his hooves, stopping as the train of people came to a halt.

Well, he was here now. And he’d been in the dark for far too long.

“Lanterns over here!”

“Who’s got the fire?”

“Please come back in one piece,” he could hear Momoi murmur to Aomine, and saw that her grip was tight. Aomine looked at Taiga, his expression in parts determined and helpless, and it almost made him want to laugh. But the mere thought of leaving, actually _leaving_ …

“I—“

The night breeze felt a little chilly against his skin. Fall was already on its way, in a week or two or three…

“Get off your horse,” Aomine said. Taiga glared at him, but jumped off Maji all the same. “He’ll be safe.”

“I know that.”

The lanterns bobbed up and down, cubicles of light in the dark river. The villagers set them free one by one, and the water shimmered a soft gold that seemed to beckon Taiga. Mesmerized, he took a step forward. The ceremony in Edo was grand, but this—he looked at the faces next to him, one by one, and felt at home. Then Aomine pointed, “Look.”

At first he did not see anything. A film of white passed through his line of vision, circling near one lantern. Then another. Taiga took a step back, his mouth agape.

“Are you afraid?”

“N-no!” 

 _Talking_ about spirits was easy, but there was no way he was going to be cured of this in time. But Aomine was watching his every move, and Taiga refused to be made a laughingstock in front of him. They would be entering an entirely foreign place together, but he was still uneasy about the whole ordeal of it being with almost a stranger. Though Riko had let him go, albeit reluctantly and after some argument, and he trusted Momoi's judgment slightly more than he did Aomine's. “W-what are you waiting for, let’s go!”

(Then he noticed Aomine’s outstretched hand was shaking, too.)

The raft glided smoothly into the water despite their combined weight. _I must be dreaming again._ Taiga’s fingers skimmed the water as he shifted position, and he was surprised at just how cold it was. Aomine was not looking at him but at the lights, almost in reach. A stick was wedged between the logs, and a talisman was tied to that, fluttering in the wind.

“Don’t touch it,” he said, so quietly it might’ve been a hallucination. “We’ll be there soon.”

On the shore behind them, Momoi started to sing:

 

_On the golden waves,_

 

_The lost wander across time;_

 

_to the farthest end of a long journey_

 

_under a full moon sky._

 

Taiga hummed along to the song, and the warmth in his chest spread. He did not feel frightened anymore, nor cold, and the lights seemed to blend into one before him. 

 _I can’t sleep now_ , he thinks, drowsily, as he slumps forward. He cannot hear Momoi’s voice anymore but as a distant melody, and Aomine’s head was bowed beside him. His eyelids drooped. 

“Hey…” Aomine murmured, breaking the silence. “I just remembered. You never finished telling me, about that guy…his name…”

“His name…”

But Aomine was not paying attention anymore. Taiga closed his eyes, listening to the water lapping at their raft.

 

 

_If that was what this life was for, Kuroko…_

_Kuroko…?_

  

* * *

 

_“Sometimes I think I’m waiting for something that won’t appear.”_

_“Why do you say that?”_

_“I don’t know. I just have a feeling.”_

_A smile. Taiga blinks, confused._

_“Why are you smiling if you’re sad?”_

_“Am I, now?”_

_“It_ will _appear!” He says this with conviction, smiling brightly, a smile that is not sad. He refuses for it to be so. “If you go looking for it, maybe you won’t have to wait.”_

_“I see. It's a good idea...maybe I will do that.”_

_“But not too far though!”  Taiga looks down at his shoes, and even his nine-year-old's shadow is long in the evening sun. “If you go somewhere far away, what if I never see you again?"_

_"I'm sure that won't happen. Besides, if you say this, won't it be a possibility for you to do the same?"_

_"I guess so..."_

_He feels his hair being ruffled. "Don't worry about me, Taiga. When you get older, you'll feel this way too."_

_Taiga nods. In his heart he thinks,_ I hope I never will.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall gonna start seeing a lot of yyh influences...like...a Lot
> 
> **actual historical notes:**
> 
> Before the very end of the Edo period, people often worshiped both Shinto and Buddhist kami/deities in the same building, as both religions had a certain amount of influence on the other as in folk religion. This was banned for a period of time during the Meiji Restoration. The practice of onmyoudo was heavily influenced by both as well.
> 
> The display of toro-nagashi marks the end of the Obon festival, where the lingering ghosts leave for the next world by following the lanterns.
> 
> not historical notes:
> 
> the lyrics to momoi's song are from [shizume uta](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HR33szgPGMU) (requiem). the other one is from an awa-odori song i'm not completely sure the name of...
> 
> i wish i’d had time to put down what aomine and momoi talked about in here but i don’t think kagami would’ve been privy to that (and way too much has happened in this chapter already) so … that’ll be saved for a later chapter
> 
> galaxy opals are really pretty.


	9. the fox's story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was made desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first of three mini chapters from the viewpoints of characters other than the three already present. this first one is ... a little weird because it's ... kind of an oc partially?? it'll make sense next chapter and if not by the end of this one i promise orz

Once, long ago, the land belonged to him. The mountains and the land that touched the sea. There were others, of course, but weaker, lesser. He did not mind them then, and they shared the bounty of the realm. 

 

In those days he was worshiped as a god. And why not? The land was fertile and the sea had plenty. The people built shrines, if shabby and makeshift, and carved from stone a thousand likenesses of him. They prayed to him for luck and fortune and harvest, and he returned as much as he could.

 

Then a drought came.

 

In the beginning they thought it would not last long. That was, however, the folly of man and beast alike. The ground cracked and turned to dust, and what storms came howling through sent little rain but strong winds that brought down every roof and shrine.

 

Even though the drought ended eventually, ten years later, it had already divided the humans and the spirits irreparably.

 

More people came, slowly at first, then faster. Soon villages sprouted up all around the curve of the shore, and they grew in number, becoming fearful of what they once saw as a god. _Monster, pest, nightmare, wraith_ —the list of names accumulated over the years, even as he moved from place to place, and he was confused. What had he done to anger them so? The people would shout at him when he appeared, and the boldest of them started throwing stones. 

 

It was not enough to hurt him physically, but he too turned, slowly, to anger and despair.

 

_Why do they hate me?_ He’d howled one day, at another spirit who’d wandered into his path in the woods. He rarely ventured outside the forest, now. _Why do they all hate me?_

 

And then he realized he was speaking not to another spirit but a human, a small boy whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of him. He stopped, surprised, and growled. _Who are you?_

 

“I’m a human,” the boy replied.

 

_You don’t feel like one._ He leaned forward and sniffed the boy, and confirmed the child was indeed human. _Strange. Are you afraid of me?_

 

“No.”

 

_Why not? Your kind fears and hates me. All of them._

 

“You aren’t hurting me,”the boy said. _“_ And I won’t hurt you either. I’m just here looking for pinecones.”

 

Looking at this boy, he suddenly remembered the rumors circulating among the other spirits when he first arrived at this place. For spirits, like humans, had their own ways of communicating—and they talked of a boy who could see them, and talk to them as they talked to each other. _Do you live near here?_

 

“Yes.”

 

_Will you…_ he hesitated, wondering if the words should leave his mouth. _Come back?_

 

“I’ll try my best to.”

 

The boy brought tales from the village and fish from the sea. An outcast, he learned—for as the people grew less and less able to see the spirits, this was a boy who was almost a spirit himself. Try as he might to not grow attached, the spirit was the one to ask for him in the first place, and so he did.

 

Sometimes the boy relayed stories about his neighbors, about which naughty child had gotten caught for something he did, simply because nobody had thought to notice him. Sometimes the boy read from books, old and worn, and he listened with all the patience of an old one to the fanciful tales humans had spun. _Do you believe all of these stories, boy?_

 

“Not all of them,” the boy admitted, laughing softly. “But here”—he points—“The Ghost at the Shrine. That’s where Ayame-san lives, and she’s a ghost. And here’s a story about a fox in the woods. I met you, didn’t I?”

 

The years passed. True to word, the boy came back when he could, and he was taller each time, though not by much.

 

“I talked to another boy yesterday.”

 

_Oh?_

 

“He doesn’t treat me like the others. They just moved here, though…”

 

_I see. Are you afraid he will start treating you like the rest, then?_

 

“No.” The boy looks at the ground, and there is a hopeful smile on his lips. “I really hope not.”

 

 

 

After that, the boy came by less and less, and then one day not at all. The fox traveled to the shrine at night, and he saw the girl named Ayame. The absence of smell in the air frightened him, as much as any thousand-year-old creature had the right to be frightened, and the village seemed colder than before.

 

She had loved the boy, he immediately saw, and the silence on her face could only confirm one thing. _Who did it?_

 

Ayame shook her head, gazing up at the sky. She was getting dimmer, he observed, on the cusp of leaving. _Nobody did anything. It was an accident. I told him, a place he could go, perhaps ask for help. He…_

 

She looked at him, now. _He’s chosen to stay there._

 

_Why?_

 

_I don’t know. Maybe that was all the help they could give. But you…_ she sighed, and the wind sighed with her. _You should leave. I should too, now that there’s nothing keeping me here. This is not a place for spirits anymore._

 

 

 

Death should be easy for him to take. He’d lived a life that was longer than countless lives added together, and still—

 

The fox fled mountain and valley, river and lake, and there was no one place he could stay for long. The villages were overrun, and cities rose and fell in the civil war that came to ravage the country for the better half of the next few hundred years. If the plagues and destructions that came in his wake were a result of human error, the blame was thrown all over the place—on the warlords, on the spirits, on anything but the nature of these creatures. Even when the wars were over and done, even when the foreign devils had been driven out of the land, the human population grew and grew and grew…

 

He fled, and though it was easy to do so, he hated.

 

_They took everything from me._

 

One day he came to a pretty little village in the middle of a wide sloping valley, next to dense forest that he thought would be a stop like any other. It was not a populous village nor a vastly prosperous one, and the stream, just completely melted from the last days of winter, looked fresh and clean and inviting.

 

While he drank from the stream he noticed a tengu watching him from the trees.

 

_Is this your territory?_

 

The tengu’s feathers were long and black, and he had a sly look about him not unlike one of a fox. 

 

_I live here, but it doesn’t belong to me. You’re welcome to stay, though, if you aren’t afraid of being lonely._

 

_What do you mean?_

 

The tengu shrugged, stretching his long wings. _We tolerate each other as long as no trouble is made. That is all._

 

_I see. What is this place called?_

 

_See that tree?_

 

He pointed; beyond them, in the middle of the forest, stood a tall paulownia, pale pinks and purples against a verdant backdrop. Spring was here, the fox thought. And not soon enough. _I do._

 

_That’s how you can tell,_ the tengu said. _You are in Touou._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the month of may (gogatsu) used to be called "satsuki" (azalea month), and more uncommonly "ayamezuki" (iris month)
> 
> :)


	10. Kise III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is futile to try and stay awake.
> 
> (He wonders if he will ever stop dreaming.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags have been added \\(v:)/

“Midorima seems to be working pretty fast today,” Mayuzumi observed, from the highest rooftop of the court. From this vantage point he could see the steadily moving silent line of people leaving from the back, all heading towards their respective sentences. Akashi sat beside him, sipping on tea.

“We have a special guest today, don’t we? You were the one to tell me.”

“As if you didn’t already know.” _Otherwise you wouldn’t have been there_ , Mayuzumi thought, but instead he turned his attention towards the faint but noticeable floral scent in the air. It was not the cloying fragrance of the crimson riverside _higanbana_ that he had grown accustomed to over the past century, but he wrinkled his nose all the same. _This can’t be a coincidence_. He wondered if Akashi had noticed. 

That wasn’t a terribly bright moment, Mayuzumi decided as soon as he caught the gleam in Akashi’s eye aiming his way. Of course he had. “Ah…the _utpala_ are blooming now? Interesting, it being so soon after…”

Mayuzumi stood up, averting his gaze thoroughly. “Don’t. Just because I mentioned...I don’t really feel like being beaten to a pulp today over some stupid flowers, even for you.”

Akashi tilted his head at him, wearing an expectant look that Mayuzumi had come to associate with potential doom. It was almost infuriating that he couldn’t say no. “I know that. However, your schedule isn’t done for today, is it? I believe Kuroko is already waiting.”

“…Fine, Akashi- _sama_.”

_It’s not like you can make me understand._

He landed on the ground without as much as a sound, and still he could feel Akashi’s lingering gaze on him. Nobody else knew both of them were back, Mayuzumi thought, noting the absence of the banner that usually hung on the walls. And Takao hadn’t come looking for a followup, though…Mayuzumi glanced at the vast gates of the court. There was a hawklike bird sitting there, its long tailfeathers brushing a slender branch of one of the willows that guarded the door; to his left was Miyaji, tapping a foot impatiently. Neither bird nor guard took notice of Mayuzumi this time as he slipped past, down the narrow dirt path that only ferrymen used.

The bitter taste of the _utpala_ lingered on his lips as he went, twisting his insides into a knot. _No, that too has passed._ If Akashi wanted to play mysterious, that was his prerogative.

Mayuzumi was just going to do what he was told.

 

* * *

 

“Kurokocchi is…?”

Kasamatsu nodded, and his lantern bobbed up and down as he spoke. He wasn’t quite holding it anymore, the light that was guiding them. “Well, yes. There have been other attempts, but he…he’s more like you. But enough about that, we’ve gotta start moving.” 

“Wait! You can’t just leave it off like—“

“Be quiet.” Kasamatsu reached backwards and yanked him forward; he was strong, Ryouta noted, much more than anyone of his stature ought to have the right to be. “You have other problems to sort out, now that I’ve gotten a proper look at you. Don’t spend your time worrying about things that’ve passed.”

 _It’s not about either of us_ , Ryouta wanted to argue, but a look at Kasamatsu’s face told him his sentiments would fall on deaf ears. But he wasn’t about to let the other thing slide. “What do you mean, now that you’ve gotten a proper look at me? You think I’m ugly or something?”

“…What?”

“Never mind.”

“You better not mumble like that when you see the Judge,” the guide grunted in way of reply. “Especially now that there’s an influx of souls coming in. It’s a mess, this time of the year.”

“Right,” said Ryouta, keeping his eyes peeled for anything of the sort potentially following them. “I get it.”

They continued to walk. The path seemed to stretch on forever; Ryouta could see, over Kasamatsu’s head, that they were heading into a bamboo grove. He tried to remember what Aomine had told him before, about the paths the dead walked, but what came to the forefront of his mind was instead a bruised and bleeding face. _No_.

Perhaps he had no right to know.

(Something stirred in the back of his head. He ignored it.)

“Now,” Kasamatsu said. He was right in front of Ryouta, but there was an echoey quality to his voice, as if coming from far away. “Keep your eyes on the light. Don’t look away.”

“I know that! Where—is there another way to get there? I thought I saw…”

The guide clapped on his shoulder roughly, though not unkindly. “To see the Judge, you must walk the path chosen for you. This is yours, so don’t complain.”

_Listen to him, Kise Ryouta._

His footsteps quickened. Maybe the effect of the flowers still lingered on, fading in and out of his mind. _Get out of my head._

_But I am a part of you._

Ryouta kept on, his lips pressed to a thin line. Up ahead, the light swayed slightly, moving as the path curved around and between the thick grey bamboo that towered above them. The darkness had creeped in imperceptibly, swirling mist around the bright yellow lantern. An uncomfortable dampness had settled on his face and exposed limbs, and he thought this must be how it felt to be buried.

Then it occurred to him he could barely see the outline of Kasamatsu’s back anymore. 

“Wait up! Hey, you’re going too fast—“

“Try to keep up!” he heard Kasamatsu say, or perhaps he didn’t—it was an echo, a dream, too far away. Ryouta stumbled over something he couldn’t see, a rock or a root, something that glittered in the dark. He steadied himself with the nearest bamboo, grateful he hadn’t gone sprawling. When he looked up again the light was already gone.

“…Kasamatsu?”

 _He’s gone_ , the voice said, mockingly. It was not Ryouta’s own voice, but then again maybe it was. _Just like all of them will, eventually. Gone. They don’t love you—_

“You don’t exist,” Ryouta muttered into the gloom. He took a hesitant step forward, then another. “You’re just…just something made up. Those flowers—“

_And if I don’t exist, what will you sacrifice?_

The wind sighed, ruffling his hair, and Ryouta felt prickling goosebumps at the back of his neck. The throb in his ear had been replaced by a numb sensation, as if parts of his extremities were slowly disappearing. He shook his head, trying to get some feeling back into himself. As long as he went forward, he would get somewhere.

“Wait for me,” he whispered.

 

 

_He’s thirteen now, a little too old to run around without responsibilities. Daiki and Satsuki are busy with their studies, though Ryouta knows it’s not exactly studying Daiki is doing. It’s the best when all three of them have the day off, he decides, to meet at the little clearing far from the prying eyes of the villager adults._

_His sisters have cautioned him again and again to be careful, but he wasn’t as weak and small as he had been as a child anymore. Ryouta had gotten sick once, really sick, during a plague that swept the village when he was six. He doesn’t remember much about it, having spent most of that time turning and tossing in delirium. At least that’s what he’s been told. After five days he had pulled through, but his parents hadn’t been so lucky._

_“Ryou-chan.” he remembers his oldest sister Haruko telling him afterward, her voice stern and sad in a way it had not been before. “You must never go out on your own now. It’s very dangerous out there, do you understand?”_

_He’d never gone out much even before that, but children never do as they are told. Ryouta had sneaked out the very next afternoon, while Haruko was working the fields and Mitsuko was asleep in the kitchen._

_Their house is at the very edge of the village, a little way from the main cluster that made up the heart of the activities. Ryouta had barely reached the main dirt road when the shouting began._

_“It’s the kid—“_

_“Go away!”_

_“We don’t want you here!”_

_Something hit his shoulder, then another, and he saw the pebbles bouncing round and shiny on the ground. It hurt, but not as much as the looks the adults were giving him—fearful and angry. There were others, children, hiding behind their parents, behind wooden beams, and in their eyes—_

_He had run, refusing to cry until he’d reached home. He hadn’t understood, then._

 

 

 

(— _Will he still love you if he knows?_

The village burns before him, vivid hues of orange and yellow casting light far off into the distance. Someone is crying, and through eyes that aren’t quite his Ryouta spots movement, throngs of people yelling, and he can smell fear in the air. There is a pain in his shoulder and a pain in his leg and a pain all over him that seems to throb with the dance of the flame, and then again is it really his body that hurt? He flees the scene with blood on his neck and collapses inside a house, a house he’s never been in yet feels and smells familiar—

Ryouta looks away and feels his own nails digging deep into his palms.

“That was a long time ago. That wasn’t me.”)

 

 

 

_“Did you also get sick back then?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“The plague.”_

_Their feet dangle in the cool water in a secluded bend where the rest of the villagers seldom visit. Daiki had shown Ryouta this spot last summer, and they’d been coming back ever since. “We’re the same age, aren’t we? And Satsucchi, right?”_

_“Yeah.” Daiki frowns at the water, as if trying very hard to think about something. “She didn’t catch anything. I don’t really remember…”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Nothing,” he cuts himself off, quickly. “I don’t remember anything.”_

_“I guess that’s why the rest of the village doesn’t want anything to do with us, huh.”_

_“Don’t be silly,” Daiki replies, but his tone isn’t very convincing—there is a hint of something there that Ryouta picks up on, and he feels the worry start at the pit of his stomach. “Even if you did catch it, you’re fine now, aren’t you? Unless—“_

_He makes to scoot away, but Ryouta kicks him right into the stream instead. Daiki takes only seconds to resurface, gasping. “Oh, you’re getting it now—“_

_Ryouta tries to scramble and run, but Daiki already has a grip on his foot, and he pulls roughly. Soon both of them are splashing water at each other, their underclothes covered in mud and sticks. The sound of Satsuki’s footsteps make themselves clear as she bounds in from the meadow where she’d been picking herbs, and she calls to them in hushed tones by the riverbank. Daiki flings some mud at her lazily, and that’s how she also gets pulled into the fray._

_This is Ryouta’s only set of clothes, but—well, he’s going to have to wash them at the end of the day anyway. When they tire, Daiki takes them crayfish hunting a little ways back towards the forest, uncovering rocks and making Satsuki squeal in delight and Ryouta yelp as the claws of a crayfish pinch his finger tightly. The creature’s legs wriggle in the afternoon sun as Daiki tries to drop it on Satsuki’s head, and it’s kind of gross, Ryouta thinks, but the sunlight reflecting off its surface seems to make it shimmer a thousand colors._

_“Look, it’s so big!”_

_Daiki’s smile is wide and beautiful and Ryouta throws the rest of the words unsaid to the back of his head._

_“Lucky you,” he says instead, and their hands touch._

_“Lucky me.” Daiki leans in, his lips brushing the back of Ryouta’s neck. “We could stay like this forever, you know.”_

_“Forever?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like that?”_

_His hands are in Daiki’s, and they feel warm. Ryouta turns to smile, only to realize they are, all of a sudden, alone. There’s a hint of mischief in the other boy’s smile, but it does not reach those blue eyes he had come so far to know. “Hey—“_

_“You won’t leave me, will you, Ryouta?”_

_He can’t tell what is it about that voice that grates on him—it is distorted, garbled, too sharp, too shrill, and Ryouta tries to pull away, but Daiki’s fingers have locked into his skin. “I won’t ever leave you.”_

_And then it comes to him that he’s really just listening to himself._

_“You’re not—“_

_The choking sensation is back, and his throat, his eyes, his ears burn, as if he is looking at Daiki through a film of flame. Someone is laughing at the back of his mind as Daiki’s mouth brushes his, a semblance of a kiss. Ryouta wants to wrap his arms around this phantom, the not-Daiki, as much as he wants to strangle him. His mouth, twisted into a grotesque smile that Ryouta has never known in life, opens once more._

_“We belong together.”_

_The rest of the words don’t leave his mouth, because he hears, pulling him back—_

 

 

_—Ryouta!_

 

 

“…Aominecchi?”

He had heard it, his name yelled in Daiki’s rough, unmistakable voice that had cut clean through the fog of his mind. The bamboo grove was back before him, and Ryouta could once more feel the coarseness of the dirt and rubble scraping his tired feet. He gasped, squatting down on the ground; his heart was beating hard and fast, as if the events that had transpired had not only happened inside his mind. Somewhere along the way he had lost his shoes, but the more pressing fact was—

“Aominecchi, is that you?”

The grove was silent. Something flared up ahead, blue, but it was not the color that Ryouta had come to know. He stood, wobbling, trying to make sense of it all. Perhaps there were other souls lost here, consigned to wandering for eternity without ever finding their way to judgment. It wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain for long.

He found it was becoming harder to breathe.

Ryouta knelt down and felt the roughly carved stone, the remnants of the path he was meant to take. It had, as he’d experienced so far, been undermined by the various roots and fragments of _things he could not see_ littered all over it. _Bones?_ he wondered, an ugly chill running down his back as he pulled away quickly— _my past?_

It was as if someone had intentionally put them there for him to stumble.

“This is some sort of test, isn’t it,” he breathed raggedly, steadying himself. “Using that voice—“

_Aren’t you scared?_

“Shut up if you’re not gonna help.”

A little gasp escaped his lips as he knelt down, feeling finally the strain on his legs. Here, alone, he was in no position to be caring about what he looked like on all fours. The ground underneath his fingers seemed drier than before, and he crawled, wondering to where the grove would pull him next. 

_Isn’t this a little ironic?_

“Fuck you,” Ryouta said. There was a quiet snort.

He choked out a laugh. Of course, there was no reasoning with something that wasn’t real. “I’m telling you again, I’m not you.”

( _Like this_ , Daiki had said, as the flower had bloomed between his fingers. _You wanna try it?_

 _I’ll do it better than you,_ Ryouta had grinned in reply. _Just wait and see_.)

_I chose you for a reason, didn’t I?_

Now he pushed himself off the ground, and he saw the stars—real stars, high above, realms and realms above this one. The mist crowded around him, lifting him up as if it had been lying in wait all along, and his mind was blank but for one thought that stood out among the rest. Ryouta took a deep breath as the voice faded into the recesses of his mind once more. He closed his eyes.

_I am myself._

“Show me the light, then.”

 

 

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Takao hummed, sharp eyes honed in on the commotion happening in the grove. “I’m impressed, actually. You didn’t give him any pointers did you, Kasamatsu-san?”

“He’s not done yet,” the guide grunted in reply. None of them had actually heard the voice, but it had reverberated in the air in a way that made it impossible to disregard. “ _That_ was a mishap, but it’s unusual he responded so quickly. Kuroko fainted in there three times when he came.”

“Ah, right. I remember that day.”

“We all do,” Miyaji said, frowning.  “Maybe you’d better go back in there. Are you sure this isn’t going to cause any problems? Something like that ought to be contained.”

“It’s not like we can spare any more personnel,” Takao said with a shrug. “The ferrymen are all busy, they’ve even got Otsubo to fill in today. The rest…well, judging by that smell, it’s kind of a bad time—”

Miyaji gave him a warning look, cutting him off. Both of them watched Kasamatsu hang his lantern up on the branch beside Takao, making a disgruntled noise. “I should’ve told him to head back that day.”

“I-I mean,” Takao quickly added, “It wasn’t, um, your fault or anything…“

The bamboo grove rustled and shuddered, and all three of them were on alert once more. A few leaves fluttered to the ground, disintegrating upon impact. Miyaji was the first to move forward, cautiously.

“Hey, Kasamatsu, he’s—“

 

 

 

What is your name? _The fox asks, in too many languages, and Ryouta finds himself understanding every one. He looks up at himself, the harrowed, the forlorn, the triumphant, all of him, and he reaches for the face that belongs to him and him only._

You will never have me, _he whispers, and the face changes. Aomine is somehow staring up at him from above, wide-eyed and innocent, and he is holding out a hand. But when Ryouta grasps it, he has already become Kuroko._

I couldn’t save you _, Kuroko is saying; Ryouta hears the anguish and desperation in his voice, and opens his mouth to speak, to call out, but the ferryman too is fading, replaced by a man he has never in life seen before._

 _The man is wearing clothes from another bygone era, sores of some unknown disease blossoming like kisses along his neckline and face. Ryouta instantly recoils in horror, too revolted by his own memories and the phantom before him._ Who are you?

You killed me _, the man murmurs as he looks down, though whether it is to him or someone he cannot see Ryouta is uncertain. He reaches out for Ryouta, and though the blond backs away he sees in the middle of the man’s open palm a single blue petal._ You are the fox—

_No!_

_He screams this, and the image shatters into pieces, raining down upon his face like fire. He hurts, but he does not, and cannot look away. There is a light there, beyond what has already come and gone, and that he grasps into his hands. The wind swirls around his body, hot against his skin._  My name is Kise. 

Kise Ryouta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're about halfway or a little more than that through the story here now o/ as always, comments etc. are much appreciated ovo
> 
>    
>  **Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> Utpala, the Sanskrit name for the blue lotus, is both a flower and a representation of a level of hell (Naraka) in Buddhist cosmology, so called because the intense cold there makes the skin turn blue like the color of the flower. In Tibetan Buddhism, it is a symbol of purity.
> 
> Takao's form is a mix of a hawk and the Zhu Que (Suzaku in Japanese), the Vermillion Bird of the South, a mythological creature and one of the Four Symbols of the Chinese constellations. Although this is mostly just a reference for how he looks.
> 
> Otsubo and Miyaji are [Ox-Head and Horse-Face](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ox-Head_and_Horse-Face) (Gozu and Mezu), beings who guard the underworld.


	11. Aomine IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to the underworld, Aomine and Kagami talk and have a run-in with some past enemies. Meanwhile, Seirin receives even more unexpected guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh, sorry i disappeared from this story for so long! i've just finished finals (laughs) and there were a lot of other stories taking up headspace, so unfortunately that had to happen, orz.
> 
> i hope everyone had a great holiday/s!

In his memory, he is spinning, round and round, and Ryouta and Satsuki are fourteen again, dancing and swinging their arms as he barrels through once, twice, thrice. There is a fire, burning bright and true in the night, and they are chanting—

 

_You may go in, you may enter_

_Which way is this narrow pathway?_

 

As tired as he is from hauling firewood (of course that is what his punishment is, after running away from lessons yet again) Daiki at least has saved some energy to play. He does a mocking bow at Ryouta, who laughs and brings his arms down as quick as he can; Satsuki does the same, and Daiki is soon stuck in the middle.

 

_This is the narrow pathway of the Tenjin shrine_

_Please allow me to go through…_

 

Of course he would try to argue, though unlike the steadily increasing vitriol exchanged at home his words seem to be wind. Ryouta laughs at something in passing, and he feels pleasantly tickled. _Forget about home._ If there had been any indication beforehand of what was to come, the only thing Daiki could’ve ever seen was his smile.

Satsuki’s smile is soft too as she lets him go through this time again, but in the firelight Daiki can see a strange wetness in her eyes. He can’t help but open his mouth as he moves closer to her, but she ducks away before he can reach.

“Satsuki, what’s wrong?”

 

_Going in is easy, but returning is scary_

 

“I’m fine,” she says, wiping at her face hastily. “It’s the heat. I don’t know, maybe we should stop. We aren’t kids anymore.”

“Why?” Both of them ask, at once. Daiki thinks he sees someone moving in the bushes behind her, but the firelight dancing off Satsuki’s face draws his attention more. _Fire and tears, a cry from long ago …_ when else had he seen that look on her face before?

 

_It’s scary, but_

_You may go in, You may pass through…_

 

“Someone could catch us.” She bites her lip. Daiki notices she is looking pointedly away from Ryouta, who for once he sees is pretending to stare at the fire. “Dai-chan, I…”

 

 

 

“Oi, Aomine!”

He couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but it was as if the heavy feeling shrouding his head had lifted somewhat from the voice cutting in. Daiki rubbed his eyes and, upon feeling the wobbling of their raft, sat up straight. “What the hell, Kagami?“

“Nothing’s happened yet…”

It was pretty uncomfortable, the two of them having to share the craft. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t enough space for them to maneuver around in, but the heart of the matter was that Daiki wasn’t quite sure why Kagami had taken him up on the offer in the first place. Sure, he’d told the redhead to come, but…

The river lapped at their craft quietly, the moon hanging high above and partially obscured. He couldn’t hear Satsuki’s song anymore, nor see the torches of the Seirin party. A mist had started to crawl around them, though it was not quite the clammy, impenetrable fog that he’d seen earlier in the day. He frowned.

“Are you sure the spell worked?”

Daiki felt a pang of annoyance, amplified by the residue of confusion from his dream. What was it that Satsuki meant, again? He could only remember what had come after, and after… “I don’t know. What, you think I travel into hell all the time?”

Kagami looked away. “How should I know? This magic stuff is really weird to me, alright?”

“I can’t believe nobody told you before,” Daiki shot back, watching him play with the strings of his pendant. It was something that had been bothering him, he realized as the words came out of his mouth. The way Kagami wasn’t looking at him as he talked and the fact that seemingly nobody in Seirin had deemed it important enough to at least mention that Kagami had quite a bit of raw potential that Daiki could observe now that his head had cleared a little. That, or there was more to Kagami he hadn’t completely wrestled out yet. He leaned forward. “You never finished telling me. Back there.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Then what the hell are you here for?”

The raft wobbled, then stilled. Kagami looked up at the sky, and the clouds casted a shadow over his face. “Kuroko.”

“What?”

“You asked. The ferryman’s name. It just…” He shook his head slowly, looking down now. “I dreamed about my brother again, and that’s what he called the ferryman. It’s been happening a lot lately—like, not just that, but other things too. Just…none of this makes sense, is all.”

“Kuroko…” Daiki stared into the water, his reflection faint in the river. There was a shimmer of something, the moonlight bouncing off a fish, perhaps. Kagami’s words kept churning inside his mind. He bit his lips, and breathed. “What do you mean, _other things_?”

Instead of continuing, Kagami makes a disparaging noise at him. “Hey, wouldn’t it be fairer if _you_ told me something for a change? You know, what started all of this, anyway? You and Kise.”

When it came down to everything, Daiki decided right there and then, there wasn’t any other way out of the question. He didn’t want to admit it, but—Kagami didn’t seem like the brightest person around, but he was most definitely onto something. Even those graced by the gods could only, for the majority of the time, throw their hands up in frustration at their machinations. If Daiki had thought himself different, this journey was only going miles out of the way to prevent that from being true.

Still, it wasn’t as if he was giving up, regardless of whatever outsiders had become tied in to the mess he’d created.

“I don’t remember how it happened, but there was a fire in the village we were living in when I was six.” The moon had hidden behind the clouds now, and Daiki couldn’t see the expression on Kagami’s face. All for the better. “There was a plague too, right around that time. Ryouta lost his parents. It was kind of a shitty year. How old are you, anyway?”

“Nineteen.”

“Huh.” He leaned back a little, and the raft creaked in response. “So’s Ryouta.”

“You’re older then, I guess?”

“…Nah.” It _was_ near his birthday, Daiki knew, but in the excitement of running away and everything that had come thereafter he wasn’t quite in the mood to be celebrating anything. “In any case, the village had…some problems with Kise’s family. Some stupid thing about their family being cursed.”

“I guess that has something to do with you two running away, right?”

 _I can’t stay here anymore_ , Ryouta’s voice caressed the back of his head, pleadingly, worryingly, and he thought of that day, not two months ago. _Aominecchi, I’ve tried to reason with them, but I don't—I can't._

 _Fuck what they think._ And then, impulsively, _I’m going with you._

“…Yeah.” He looked up at the clouds, listening to his words that came spilling out. “It wasn’t like they understood anything. They just didn’t want _us_. Like that’s going to stop anything. But we had to go.”

It’s not something he liked to think about, that night.  _Almost there_. He could hear Kagami drumming his fingers along the side of the raft, pat-a-pat, the sights and sounds of the previous night still bursting in color in his mind’s eye.

“So, your turn.”

“My what?”

Aomine grunted. “I told you what you wanted to know. I want to know what you didn’t finish telling me. That’d be what you mean by _fair_.”

Kagami’s fingers stilled, and dropped the pendant back to his chest. “I was telling them back there. I was in Nagasaki, before I came back and all of this happened.”

“And?”

“There was this guy,” he began, hesitantly. “I don’t know if he has anything to do with this, but he tried to stop me before I left.”

“What, he just ran in front of your horse or something?”

“Yeah, um, pretty much.” He paused, and Daiki could tell there was uncertainty simmering beneath the surface. As if that was confined to just one out of the two—but he bit down the words. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I didn’t even tell Riko or the others.”

Daiki scratched his nose. “Because I still don’t know what the hell happened to you? I’m not even sure what you’re trying to tell me—this guy, he’s got anything to do with any of this?”

Though the mist was thicker now, they were also sitting closer. Daiki could still see Kagami’s face, his eyes tired and mouth set to a line. “He didn’t see me at first, I think. But he called out Tatsuya’s name.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

“I mean, if you look alike, that’s not a far stretch—“

Kagami shook his head; his fingers reached for the jade again, but they faltered. “We’re not actually related. It’s kind of a long story, but we don’t look alike at all.”

It was a familiar story, or at least, like something that Satsuki could say about him. Something clicked inside Daiki’s mind. “Maybe he saw your pendant. You said your brother gave it to you, does he have one too?”

“Yeah. I don’t think he did, though, unless—“ Kagami sighed. “I don’t know what kind of friends Tatsuya made while he was away. Maybe he’s described me to someone before, I dunno. The school wasn’t a big place inside the city, so some people just _knew_.”

“Or maybe he was just some friend of your brother’s strapped for cash? Probably stopped the first carriage he saw for that.”

“Yeah.” The silence this time felt smaller, more defeated. “I didn’t tell anyone but Alex about him disappearing. Maybe they just assumed he left town for a while.”

Well. At least Kagami had seemed to catch his drift, Daiki thought idly as he stared at the faint green glow from his pendant a few feet away. Maybe they had to do this sleeping, but what if something came up along the way and—

_Glowing?_

“Hey, Kagami,” he said, carefully, an unease building up inside him. If the pendant were to react to the ritual, it would have done so long ago. “You know your thing’s reacting to something again, right?”

“Huh? Oh, I thought it’s just because we’re, you know—here?“

As if on cue, Daiki hears a splash somewhere not too far off behind them. A very quiet sound, but one that alarmed him all the same. Nothing was supposed to be there—or perhaps it was just the river and their nerves. “Oi, are there any big fish in this river?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Otters, anything like that?”

“Look, I don’t know how that’s helping the situation…” His voice trailed off, and all Daiki could see was the jade glowing brighter. “Um, fuck. What do I do? Shoot something?”

“Be quiet.” The raft brushed against a rock, bumping them a little; Kagami let out a yelp, and behind that Daiki could hear the very audible sound of sawing, a sound clearly not made by any aquatic animal. Someone was following them, and if he had learned anything it was that the dead were much less worrisome than the living. _This is no underworld guard coming for us_. “Alright, that’s it. Don’t— _don’t_ turn around, don’t touch the water, I’ll f—“

_“Aomine!”_

A tickling sensation caused him to smash his hand down the side of the raft, striking something bristly that let out a yelp beneath him as it let go. Aomine turned, gawking with growing horror at Kagami struggling with his foot that had gotten caught in something coming out of the water. Something long, silver, glowing—

“Hey, Kagami,” he whispered, crouching low. “Stop moving if you don’t want to die.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, you got everything over there?”

“Yeah, I think—wait, there’s still the blocks near the entrance. Riko would probably want those moved, I think.” Izuki yawned, plopping himself down on the ground. Beside him, Kiyoshi set down the last of the drums into the storage house, and closed the door. “She hasn’t been out of the temple all day.”

“Yeah, well—” From where they were atop the hill, they could overlook the village grounds—Hyuuga was talking to some of the attendants near the well, while another part were helping out other villagers in the fields. Mitobe and Koganei were nowhere to be seen. Probably inside with Momoi and Riko, Kiyoshi thought, stretching out his arms a bit. There would be no rest for them as long as the spider situation and Kise was not sorted out—but then again, they had not seen this much excitement in the village since Kagami’s first visit all those years ago. Putting talents to use, as the older villagers would say.

As if on cue, Izuki poked him just as he turned around.

“Hm?”

“Look,” the eagle said, and Kiyoshi squinted at the small black dot coming down the road, only a mile or two away from where they were. Too slow to be a youkai, but quite fast for a human—though, it might not even be someone coming for them. “I’m gonna go take a look over there, yeah?”

 

 

 

“Who _is_ that?”

“Don’t talk so loudly,” Hyuuga snapped quietly behind Kawahara and Fukuda, pulling them back through the gates. “And go get Riko, one of you. Don’t just stand there gawking.”

The rider, once they were close enough to be seen, wore the armor of a samurai, the midday sun glinting off worn plate armor dangerously. There was an air of urgency in the way the mare beneath the rider stomped and came around before coming to a stop. Izuki came in after them, landing on a stump next to Hyuuga and Kiyoshi. “She says she has a message for Kagami.”

“She?”

“But Kagami is—“

In one fluid motion the rider swiped off the kabuto, revealing long, dark hair. The woman looked stern, older than the men standing around in confusion, but not by much—if anything, it was the outfit that surprised them the most. She frowned as she gave the men a once-over. “I was told Kagami Taiga would be here, is that correct?”

“Er,” Kiyoshi said, glancing at Izuki, who threw up his wings in ignorance. Evidently he had not clued her in to the situation at hand. Nor, he realized, had she been at all surprised at the concept of a friendly talking eagle. “He’s…not available at the moment. Who, um, who _are_ you?”

“…My name is Araki.” She pulled out a folded document from underneath her armor, the edges already showing signs of wear. Edo was a fair distance away, but not quite far enough for this. Nor would a ride from Edo have worn her out so much—Kiyoshi could see the dark circles under her eyes as he took the document gingerly. Though she was armed, it was unusual for an onna-bugeisha to travel alone for such distances, and even odder that he could feel a definite sort of foreign aura around her. “Al—Kagami’s…teacher sent me, from Nagasaki. It is urgent that I speak to him.”

The lines on Hyuuga’s face deepened. “All the way from—what’s so important about this? We can deliver the message for you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Araki replied, as Kiyoshi opened the document curiously. “Unless you can read that barbarian language…in any case, it would be better to lay out everything with everyone present. My charge was supposed to arrive here earlier, although it would be that he has not yet appeared?”

“Remind me again _why_ all these random people have been wandering in for this entire week,” Hyuuga muttered, but he straightened up when Araki leveled a glare in his direction. “Sorry, we haven’t received anyone but Kagami.”

“And his friends,” Izuki piped up, “Well, kind of. What’s this other guy you’re with? I didn’t see anyone else coming up the road.”

“Well,” Araki began, but a yell in the distance behind them cut her off. Izuki immediately took to the skies, circling high above them, and Hyuuga motioned to the two beside him to go.

“Hey, someone’s hurt over there!”

“ _Shit_ , how the hell did they get around the perimeters?” Hyuuga muttered, and Kiyoshi pat him on the back worriedly as they quickly followed, the scroll crumpled up in his hand. Koganei was there, waving his arms wildly beside the well. “Oi, Koga, what—“

He jerked a thumb back at where Mitobe emerged from the bushes with a ragged-looking young man with him. Burrs had crept into his black hair, and his arms were scratched up with old and new scars alike. There was a hungry look in his face that suggested he’d been traveling for quite a while, perhaps having lost his horse along the way. The closest friendly village to Seirin was more than half a morning’s ride away, but it would not have been a surprise if this man had been chased by demons before somehow breaking through the village’s defenses.

The hesitancy of the villagers was not unfounded. Though, Kiyoshi noted, there was also no mistaking the glittering black stone he was clutching.

Hyuuga was first to break the silence. “So…does the name Kagami Taiga ring a bell to you?”

“Yes.” There was a flicker of hope in his grey eyes as he looked up at them all. “But he's not the person I'm looking for.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a long story,” Araki sighed, eyeing the crowd with much less suspicion she did the first time around. “There must be somewhere we can talk inside. He can tell you then … won’t you, Nijimura?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [Toryanse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T%C5%8Dryanse) is a traditional Japanese children's song originating from the Edo period, and is often accompanied by a game similar to "London Bridge." According to Wikipedia it originally was "a portrayal of an exchange between a civilian and a guard manning some sort of a checkpoint." Nowadays it is played at pedestrian crossings.  
> \- Onna-bugeisha are female samurai (the kabuto is the face mask that samurai wear)


	12. the overseer's lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was created for a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd mini chapter
> 
> remember the first sentence of the first story from replace v :)

He was created for a purpose.

 

When he came to he received his first memory, a man clothed in brilliant crimson. The man stared at him with red-and-gold eyes, and he knew this was the King.

 

“Who am I?”

 

“You will oversee Suffering.”

 

“Where did I come from?”

 

“We are cycles that do not end.”

 

He stopped asking questions after that, knowing that no question he posed would be truly answered. Not here, at least, where the clouds hung in the sky forever and the dead numbered vastly more than the living, which was to say the living did not come here.

 

True to purpose, he oversaw Suffering, which came after Judgment and before Reincarnation. It was not a single process but a thousand paths that led to redemption; not quite eternal, but long enough to be considered so. Those paths spiraled down far beneath their plane, so far down that even he who oversaw it could not see its bottommost depths…

 

He did not interact much with the others within the court, save for the Keeper of Reincarnation who occasionally dropped by in boredom. It was not surprising; none of the other processes touched upon what was considered dirty work as much as his did. And he was good at it.

 

“Hey…”

 

“I didn’t think you would come today.”

 

A shrug.

 

“Sometimes staying in one place isn’t as nice as you’d think it would be.” The Keeper yawned and plopped down on a chair. “Though there’s nothing fun here, either…”

 

“I wouldn’t call this kind of job _fun_.”

 

“Still.” Below them stretched the thousand paths, leading into mist or rain or fire or thunder, to beautiful lies and uncomfortable truths. All of them tried and tested, walked through innumerable times. “It’s not like we’re going to leave anytime soon.”

 

 

_What is the world like, up there?_

 

 

The King was often absent, the only one allowed to leave apart from the ferrymen who rowed their boats from shore to shore. Sometimes, when there was a lull—and those _did_ happen sometimes, as rare as they were—in work, he would seek out a spot and watch the river.

 

It was peaceful, but his heart stirred.

 

One day the King received in private court a young man. A living one—when he walked out, the rest of the court gathered around in curiosity, at the wonder that was a living mortal in the world of the dead. But there was far too much sorrow in those eyes than had any right to be, and the boy felt more ghost than human.

 

“He will become one of us today,” the King said, an unprecedented announcement. Those already dead could become ferrymen, as only those who had once lived could bridge the distance between the worlds, but no living human had ever joined their ranks. But nobody questioned the foresight of the King, and that was that. “You, there. Give him a tour of the court; I have other things to attend to.”

 

 

“The sky? It’s blue most of the time—of course, there are cloudy days like here, too.”

 

“Why did you come here?”

 

He hadn’t meant to ask the question, really, but it had slipped out before he could stop himself. The look in the other’s eyes dimmed.

 

“I…I made a promise.”

 

“To be permanently stuck between life and death? Does that make you happy?”

 

“If you’ll allow me to be blunt—it sounds like you’re the one who isn’t happy with that.”

 

“I…” He paused. “I am just curious. After all, I have never left.”

 

“I see.” And then they walked in silence for the rest of the way, down the length of the hall. It was afternoon, approximately, but there was no sun to draw their shadows on the wall.

 

 

The next day, the boy took on his robes as instructed, and for a while the Overseer forgot about his curiosity.

 

 

“Who’s there—oh, it’s you. But…oi, don’t you have work to do?”

 

A lantern glowed soft yellow between them, parting the thick, thick mist. The Guide peered at him with a raised brow, waiting for an answer.

 

“Not today, Kasamatsu.”

 

That earned him a grunt of acknowledgement. They walked together in silence towards the dock, under an exceptionally cloudy sky. If the Guide had not been holding his lantern, the Overseer thought, even he might be lost.

 

“River-watching again, huh.”

 

“Are there many coming now?”

 

“Only one. Weird, since we’ve been getting cartloads lately from that mess up there.”

 

They reached the dock, and he saw the distinct shape of a boat approaching. It was the human boy— _no, he is not a boy anymore_ , the Overseer reminded himself. Too much time had passed for that to be true, though the years did pass in a blink for them. A young man sat in the back of the boat, dark-haired with his head bowed. _Today’s cargo._

 

“Hey there,” said the Guide, holding the lantern over them. “Is it really just one today?”

 

“Yes, Kasamatsu-san.”

 

“Right. I guess that fox can’t kill everyone all at once. Up you come now.”

 

The man grabbed at one of the wooden poles that jutted out into the river and pulled himself up. He did this in one fluid motion, and the Overseer was watching so closely he almost did not hear the warning creak of the plank.

 

“—!”

 

He reached forward and caught the man by the arm, preventing him from falling into the water. There were blisters on his arms, cracking and red, reminding him of cold-blisters of _Arbuda_ that he’d seen many times over. Beside him, the Guide seemed to breathe a sigh of relief; the river took what it wanted, sometimes, but this time it did not. “Now, you want to be careful there.”

 

The man looked up at him.

 

 _Grey eyes_ , he thought. _Dark grey, like the clouds_. There is wonder in those eyes; the Overseer knows of the thousand paths, the strings of _en_ that strengthen or weaken with each passing life. But this one—

 

“Thanks.”

 

He heard the Guide speak in a fussy tone. “Yes, watch your step. You caught the plague, didn’t you? Your name…hang on a second, I’ve got it here…”

 

(He does not hear the name the first time but later, again and again, in a cycle of longing that does not end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh kise and kuroko are probably the most important characters in this series but im also rly invested in the side stories haha cries
> 
>  _en_ , or [_yuanfen_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuanfen), can be described as 'fateful coincidence'; not exactly destiny, but destiny _as conditioned by one's past._
> 
>  
> 
> the next Actual chapter should be up...sometime in march! ~~school is starting again why is this~~


	13. Kagami IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i'm so sorry omg i thought i was gonna have time to post at least once a month but...nope...(i'm still having midterms right now :') haha rip). i know i've been posting other things but yall know how inspiration jumps so quickly from fic to fic :'|
> 
> anyway i'm kind of ???? with how this chapter turned out but i wanted to get it in before it turned may everywhere orz, But i think it was okay hopefully ??? anyway we are getting 2/3 of the way there...!

“Mayuzumi-san.”

“Don’t.” Mayuzumi held up a hand, and the murmuring in the back quieted for a moment. The currents were faster than usual, he could tell, honing towards home. It wasn’t as if this was going to stop the inevitable. “I can hear them from a mile away. Ignore it, we have a job to do.”

“Is this not part of our job too?” There is a sigh; from where it came, Mayuzumi couldn’t tell. But soon, soon… “It won’t be for long.”

“Kuroko— _oi_ , what the hell are you _doing_ —“

 

 

 

Taiga knew what it was the second he saw the thread around his ankle.

“I can’t believe they followed me all this way,” he breathed as Aomine crept closer, his eyes fixed on the offending spider-thread. He was trying his best to heed the other’s words, though the pit at the bottom of his stomach was not lending any strength to that endeavor. Instead, the threads seemed to draw in even tighter. “Aomine, what the hell are you doing?”

“What else does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to help—”

It was of little assurance as Taiga watched—felt, mostly—Aomine dig at the threads on his ankle; there was a sizzling sound as several loosened up. Taiga coughed, the mist so thick now that he could barely even make out Aomine’s face anymore. “That’s not fucking working!”

“Why the hell don’t _you_ try then?”

“How the fuck do I do that if I don’t have _any_ weapons?”

It constricted further up the length of his leg, the threads that he’d wished to never see again. The raft tilted dangerously; Taiga heard a crunch of something that sounded like flesh against rock, and he gasped. Aomine’s heavy breathing told him he wasn’t yet down. But—what could he do? He took a deep breath, muscles slackening as he felt himself dragged further down, heart beating wildly. What Aomine had said back in the temple…what had it been?

_We could use a little more light in here._

“Kagami? Are you listening to m—“

The light cut across his words, and Taiga felt like he was floating, the threads cut loose. A loud splash, and water rained down on them, sticks and pebbles striking his face. There was a soft scream, an angry shout, and the raft wobbled so violently his legs slipped into the cold river-water. Taiga gasped as the light dissipated, struggling to climb back until a hand clamped down on his arm.

“Alright, I’ll give you that,” Aomine said, his voice a rasp. Taiga only had a second to breathe before he slipped again. “Fuck, wait—there’s a hole in the raft!”

He groaned. “Are you serious? At least they’re gone now—”

“…Kagami, you made a fucking _hole_ in the only thing keeping us alive.”

—If this even counted as being alive. There was a moment of silence as they strained to hear, apart from the waves, whether there was anyone besides them anymore. It occurred to Taiga now that the water was much colder than he had anticipated. “Pull me up a bit more now, will you? It’s not at water level, we’re not gonna drown.”

Aomine frowned, but complied. “Be quiet. Just because we can’t hear them anymore doesn’t mean they’re not there anymore.”

“Why don’t you try soul-searching for Kise instead,” Taiga grumbled, letting go as soon as he could scramble into a sitting position. In any case, he was glad to be out of the chill. The river moved them along sluggishly as they tried their best to scrape the remaining water out. It wasn’t any colder than before, but even with the threads cut the pendant did not cease glowing. Neither did his heart stop pounding; Taiga looks up, feeling strangely lightheaded. Aimlessly he let it slip and slide through his fingers as they went, and yet, and yet—

“Hey, so if I keep using this…”

“Don’t do anything st—“ He sucks in breath, one hand clutching hard at the rim of the raft. “Anyway, you better stop. Just because nothing’s happened to you yet doesn’t mean it won’t.”

If Aomine was bitter, Taiga couldn’t tell.

 _This will show you home_ , Tatsuya had told him, pressing the pendant into Taiga’s palm. That day he’d left for Nagasaki still burned clearly in Taiga’s head: it was windy, then. The autumn breeze would carry him to port, smooth across the ocean, and beyond. Home was Edo, Seirin, his parents…Alex, even, and still…

 

_(I was hoping you would remember me.)_

 

The sound of water took him to drowsiness again. Aomine, at the other end, seemed all too far away. Were it that he had paid more attention to his studies, perhaps he would’ve known there was more to this place. The waves lapped at the recesses of his mind, whispering to him, beckoning with the a sickly sweet scent. _Will you come?_ It whispered, closing his eyes. _Come home? Here…home is here._

 

 

 

 

_“Hey, you wanna go take a swim? I haven’t been down to the beach yet…”_

_They are somewhere Taiga does not recognize, at the edge of a settlement of the likes he has never seen before. The thatched roof houses are a far cry from even Seirin—if he looks up, he can see the narrow path leading up the hill._ Home _, he thinks, but…_

_In the next second, Kuroko is standing before him._

_“Why?”_

_“My father won’t let me. He says it’s dangerous. It doesn’t look that scary to me, though. What do you think, Kuroko? You’ve lived here much longer.”_

_Those were not the words he wanted to say, but they come flowing out of his mouth anyway. He moves a hand that both is and isn’t his, pointing somewhere he cannot see. Kuroko—it is Kuroko, is it not? He is thinner than Taiga remembers, his clothing frayed and threadbare. But try as he might, there is no way he could forget that voice, those eyes—Kuroko smiles sadly at him and shakes his head._

_“Ah. I think…maybe another day. It looks like it might rain soon.”_

_A wave of disappointment washes over him._

_“Oh…”_

_As if sensing such, Kuroko reaches out and touches his hand, hesitantly, then firmly. His hand, Taiga notices, is warm._

_“…But if you really want to, we can go together.”_

 

 

 

 

_“Kagami-kun?”_

Taiga’s nose was almost touching the water when he heard the voice, speaking through the ripples of the Sanzu. He leaned back immediately; in the waves he thought he saw a flash of pale blue. Was it not night? But the mist hung about him like gossamer curtains, and he shivered at what that reminded him of.

It was there, alright.

“Aomine, did you hear that?”

The smell lingered still, all around him, and he saw that the other was slumped forward, his head bowed. “Aomine!”

Taiga reached over just as Aomine jerked upwards, fumbling with the stone in his hand. It clattered to the bottom of the craft, glittering, and Taiga drew a quick breath. There was another boat parallel to them, not an arm’s length away. Evidently neither had heard it come up, so quietly had it glided through the mist. An empty vessel save for the strange dancing lights, blue fireflies that zipped to and fro within the confines of its length.

His head swam. Taiga had read of _kitsunebi_ , the fox-fire, the dead-fire, but even then kitsune were not creatures of the underworld, not really.

“It’s not fire,” Aomine whispered hoarsely behind him. “ _Hitodama_ , souls of…of…”

(In that moment he swore he saw the entire boat fill with people—old and withered, covered with burns and sores, the ill and the weary, even children—but he had no time to scream, or whatever he would have done in place of that.)

“Yes, souls of the dead.”

The people were gone. Instead, Taiga saw, there was a lone boy standing in the middle of the vessel, his thin hands gripping at a long paddle. He seemed almost immaterial, every aspect of him from the translucent cerulean robes to the pale face staring back. As hard as his heart pounded, Taiga knew there had to be such a person standing before him, that he was not dreaming.

After all, there was no way an illusion could be looking at him with the intensity of this man before him.

His throat felt like rust as he whispered, “Kuroko?”

“Yes.”

Aomine made a small noise behind him, a half-surprised grunt. “How did you—“

“I followed the light, that’s all.”

Kuroko pointed at Taiga’s chest, and in that instant he saw the string wound around the other’s wrist, frayed and visibly weathered but still— _red_.Red as the string around his own neck, the pendant dangling from it emitting a very soft sort of light, completely different from what it was doing moments ago. Aomine crawled forward, uncomfortably close.

“Kise,” was all he managed to say. Taiga looked down at his hands, unable—unwilling—to wonder what Aomine was feeling at the moment. Kuroko shook his head, his hand falling back to his side.

“You will find him across the river.”

Taiga could almost reach out and touch him, as there was no distance between the boats. But the steady sound of water, ringing in his ears, stopped him; he was still human, after all, despite all he had endured thus far. Was it a dream then, that he felt Kuroko would be solid despite all evidence to the contrary, so vivid the color of his eyes shone— “I can take you there, Aomine-kun. You too, Kagami—“

_“Kuroko.”_

Whatever Taiga had thought of talking to a literal ghost of his past, the voice that materialized out of the mist behind Kuroko sent his thoughts scattering to the wind. _Don’t you know where you are?_ his own voice, adrenaline coursing through his veins, shrieked down the hallways of his mind.

He was pale-haired, the owner of that voice, and taller than Kuroko was. The fireflies danced behind him too; what was different this time was that Taiga could plainly see he was dead.

“They are not welcome here.”

Taiga expected trouble, though it hadn’t occurred to him that trouble would come in this form. It was evident this other person was some sort of ferryman, too—in the mist, he could hardly tell if he were seeing one or another. The strange floral scent, still lingering, did not help. “I didn’t—we didn’t come here to do anything. I just want answers.”

Kuroko turns to the other man. “Mayuzumi-san.”

“No.” Mayuzumi’s voice remained hard. “The living won’t find any answers here, you know the rules. This isn’t any of our business, if you know what’s good for you.“

“Would Akashi-sama have sent me with you if he hadn’t known?”

“Oh, so _you_ think you can get away with _everything_ —“

“Hey,” Aomine interjected, his voice cutting roughly through the argument; Taiga had almost forgotten he was there, so surreal was the situation unfolding before him was. He tried to stand, but the raft rocked so violently Taiga had to cling to it hard, cursing softly. “Shut the fuck up, whoever you are. Is it a ticket you want?”

If he had thought onmyouji to be more reverent of supernatural forces, Taiga had been absolutely wrong. Aomine tossed the glittering stone into the air, catching it again with his other hand. It sat in his palm innocently as he held it up to the two ferryman. “Here. Take the fucking thing and leave us alone, won’t you? We’re done here, Kagami.”

Even before his sentence had ended, Taiga already saw Mayuzumi’s eyes widen, Kuroko’s hands jerk away from the edge of the boat. If he hadn’t known better, he would almost have thought…

“Well?” Aomine said impatiently.

“Why is that—“

“It seems Nijimura-san has found a way after all,” Kuroko said quietly, almost to himself. This time, Taiga didn’t miss the jerk of his head at the name, but all the same, he was at a loss of words as well. A hint of sympathy tempered Kuroko’s next words. “Mayuzumi-san, we must let them go. You know the rules. I’m s—”

“Shut up,” Mayuzumi said, his voice brittle. He turned away, and the water gurgled beneath their crafts unpleasantly. Taiga's stomach churned along with it, and he felt nauseous. “It’s not my problem anymore if you want to play savior.”

Then they were alone.

“Hey,” Aomine said uncertainly, looking at his hand. Nobody answered him but the waves. “It’s gone.”

 

 

 

“Wait, Kuroko.”

He could see a faint outline of the shore now, the myriad sounds of the river soft in his ear. Neither Taiga nor Aomine looked at each other now. Both sat in the middle of the boat, surrounded by the translucent outlines of the dead. Taiga didn’t want to think about that; it was hard enough trying to process what had just went down. “What did that guy mean? Who’s Nijimura?”

“Mayuzumi-san is a colleague of mine,” Kuroko said, not looking back at him. Taiga could see flowers now—a sea of red that covered most of the expanse before him. He wanted to lean over the boat, but Aomine’s gaze was boring holes into his head. “Another ferryman. Nijimura-san is…”

His voice trailed off as the craft bumped against the pier. All around them, the dead began to stand—weightless, they stepped off in orderly fashion, lining up on the wooden planks. Kuroko threw a rope over a pole, tightening it. Easily he jumped abroad; Taiga followed, then Aomine. The ground was solid again, thankfully so. “Mayuzumi-san knew him, before he came to work here.”

“And? What does that have to do with me then?” Had this Nijimura person been the original owner of the stone? But Alex had given it to him—it made no sense, Taiga thought, for a complete stranger to gift him something like this. Unless, of course, he had somehow anticipated things to go south so quick in this particular direction.

Neither option seemed likely in the least, but here he was in a place that he hadn’t fathomed he would see in life. “…I don’t even know this guy.”

“Kagami-kun,” Kuroko replied, slowly. “What did you see when you passed out?”

“That’s still not—“

“There’s someone coming,” Aomine interrupted, pointing between them. Taiga made to argue, but the silence of the murmuring waters gave him pause. At first he saw nothing but the mist, thick beyond the end of the pier where it connected to land. Then, a light. No—

“Kasamatsu-san,” Kuroko said, nodding. “And Moriyama-san. I did not expect both of you would be here today.”

Two men had materialized out of the mist, each holding a lantern. The first one Kuroko had addressed looked at him disapprovingly. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave as soon as you unloaded, Kuroko. You know other ways up to court.”

“It would not have mattered, would it?” Kuroko took a step forward, and Taiga was inclined to follow. The second man, Moriyama, was already starting to gather the others. “As soon as Mayuzumi-san left, I knew Akashi-sama would know.”

“Which means you know how Akashi would react,” Kasamatsu replied drily. But the look on his face was more defeated and vastly disgruntled than truly angry. Taiga did not know which one was worse, the actual words coming out of his mouth, or what he implied. “It seems I can't stop this foolishness, as much as I want to. Otsubo will take over your shift.”

“Me?”

“Orders.” Then, unexpectedly, he brought the lantern up to Aomine’s face. He took a step back, bewildered. “If you do not lose yourself, Aomine Daiki, you will find Kise in court. I will take you through the woods.”

Suddenly Taiga felt very out of place—he was here to find Tatsuya, to find Kuroko, and half of that was already done. Where would that leave him? “Hey, what about me?”

“I will take you, Kagami-kun.”

Kuroko looked up at him. He looked even smaller on land, without the mist to shroud him nor the waters to bear him. “To your brother. We have much to talk about, after all.”

“Y-yeah.”

Aomine and Kasamatsu had already started walking, away from the flowers and deeper into the forest. As he and Kuroko hastened to catch up, only one issue floated up to the forefront of Taiga’s mind in the form of Kasamatsu's swaying lantern up ahead.

Kuroko didn’t have a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized i haven't actually added a chart or anything of who's all doing what kind of job yet (seeing that most characters are/will be mentioned) but maybe i'll add one next chapter...? after i'm done dying from exams haha orz.


	14. Kise IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midorima begins the Judging.

“Hey, wake up. You here with me?”

Ryouta felt something heavy on him, something sharp. He opened his eyes groggily, only to come face-to-face with a large, bright vermillion bird sitting on his chest. Its beak was dangerously close to his face, and he let out a startled yelp.

“What—“

“Takao, I don’t think sitting on him is going to help.”

“I wasn’t _sitting_ …“

Kasamatsu shooed the squawking bird out of the way, and held out a hand for Ryouta. “So, you got out.”

“I did.” He wasn’t hurting anymore, nor was there any voice inside his head. Kasamatsu was studying him carefully, and Ryouta could see his eyes flicker ever so briefly to the earring.

“Good.” Kasamatsu pulled him up, waiting as he dusted off his clothes. Ryouta was left eyeing the bird, who had flown to a perch on a willow that grew higher than any he had seen before, and another man walking along the bamboo grove’s periphery, inspecting the grounds. “Miyaji, anything unusual?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Alright. Well then, Takao will take you inside. Don’t get lost again, you hear me?”

“Y-yeah, I heard you."

Then it clicked inside his head, the perfunctory nature of Kasamatsu’s words, and the fact that none of them seemed genuinely surprised that he had woken up on the ground. Ryouta turned to ask, but the guide was already gone.

“He’s really busy, so I’d get on with it if I were you,” the other, blond man said, indicating at the door. The way he was examining chipped paint on the door was all Ryouta needed to know about the helpfulness of what was ostensibly Hell’s bureaucracy. “Takao—“

“On it.” The bird flew down from its perch, and suddenly was not a bird anymore but a sharp-eyed young man, dressed in flowing robes of orange and red. He started towards the door, and Ryouta had to quicken his footsteps to catch up. It seemed that none of these people bothered with making sure the dead could cover their pace. “Watch your step, here.”

 _(But I’m not dead yet, am I?_ he thought, and his legs almost gave out underneath. Takao had not seemed to notice, but Ryouta thought he heard a pause somewhere. He shook his head, then, hurriedly, caught up.)

Soon they were inside a long, long hallway, the walls of which were decorated with the likes of things Ryouta had never seen before. There had been little in the way of education in the arts from where he had come. The village shrine Satsuki’s father kept was kept tidy and sparse, and none of them had much access to anything other than the scrolls stored there. Then again, Ryouta did not spend much of his time appreciating art.

…If this could be called art. Men hung from rafters with their tongues lolling out, their sides pierced by needles, flames licking their crackling skin in fury. Hands, reaching to the heavens, sticking out of boiling vats of water. Everywhere Ryouta looked was a different sort of torture—slicing, steaming, freezing, drowning. Several depictions were crudely drawn and unrecognizable; others, finely inked, intricate in their lines and every vein and bone. Yet they melted seamlessly into each other, each swirl and cloud and pattern that reached so far up Ryouta could not see where they disappeared into.

Vines and flowers snaked up the ornate pillars, flame and water, exotic beasts with more eyes than any creature ought to have, and beasts with none. A giant looms out of the darkness, his six arms each pointing a different direction: the six realms of rebirth, gods and demons and everything in-between. Beneath him spiral the paths of _naraka_ , gleaming every color and none at once, leading back to the hellish scenes in the previous panel. A figure stood at the junction where they all meet, his beautiful smile sending shivers down Ryouta’s spine, the lotuses at his feet chilled and wilted…

A distinctive scream started up, dully, in his ear, and he shook his head and shuddered. Ryouta looked away, and found next mural familiar.

“Is that Kurokocchi?”

“Hm? Oh—“ Takao waved a hand at him from up ahead. “You like the art? Shin-chan would be proud.”

“Shin-chan…?”

He made to keep up his pace, two steps at a time, then three. Ryouta had always considered himself exceptionally fit, but he’d never had to test that against the spirit-guardians of Hell. Still, as he passed the relatively calm waves of the Sanzu, he saw the _higanbana_ sprouting from the walls, red ink bleeding into every crack and crevice. The image made him start.

 

_Remember who you are, and what you are about to do._

 

“Ah, you’re really a special case, aren’t you?”

In the time that had passed, which had seemed no time at all, they were at the foot of the stairs. Takao stood beside him, looking up at the door to the grand court. He winked at Ryouta. “Thinking about going back?”

“No,” Ryouta said. It was the truth. He stared at the large golden eye painted on the door; if something could root him to the spot in fear, it was only what he wanted now that could bring it back. _Aominecchi_. “I’m ready.”

 

 

 

Growing up, Ryouta had listened to Satsuki’s stories about the murky world beneath their own, Ox-Head and Horse-Face menacing the dead with their swords and spears, Izanami lamenting for her husband, a land dreary and dead. All fantasies, they had thought, despite the spirits he’d seen Aomine banish, the sound of the bells that had stayed in his mind for long after Satsuki had stopped playing…

Sometimes Aomine had shown him tricks, but Satsuki had never done so, not with all of them present. Sometimes he could replicate them entirely, but it would leave his whole body exhausted and hurting. _Kotodama_ would never come to him as much as he tried.

Now he knew. He _remembered_.

There was a man sitting behind a desk when he entered. He looked tired, and the room was smaller than Ryouta had imagined, though still putting comfortable distance between both of them. Two more men stood guard to either side of the bare room, the right in black and the left in white.

“Go on,” Takao said, behind him, pointing to the pads laid out on the ground. And then, louder, “I’ve brought him, Shin-chan!”

“… _Please_ refrain from calling me that when court is in session, Takao.” He pushed away from the desk, sighing. “I can see that.”

The man— _Shin-chan?_ —was tall and stood straight as an arrow, the white patch on his chest telling; Ryouta had never been the best at reading, but he could make out the words _deputy_ and _Midorima—_ his name? A title? He frowned. “Are you the Judge?”

Then Ryouta felt hands clamping down on his own, pushing him downwards until his face barely swept the ground. Behind him clicked the sound of irons. He gasped, and then they lifted him up, the two who had only moments ago been standing far from him. Midorima sighs, rapping a fan on the table. “ _Quiet_. Tell me your name and age.”

Above him, Takao had landed on the rafters, preening his feathers as he watched. He would not be part of this interrogation, Ryouta realized. Perhaps this was but a game to them, those beings that did not die. He felt a burn at the base of his throat.

_Why can’t I have that?_

Ryouta licked his lips. There was a taste of flowers in the air, a taste unlike the spider-lilies, and he felt the fire of fourteen years ago burn within him.

_Why did it have to be me?_

_Shouldn’t you know already?_

_—Don’t be cheeky._

“Kise Ryouta,” he said. “Twenty.”

Midorima nodded, and opened his fan. A trail of something sprung out from within—golden sparks, perhaps, or a wisp of smoke. He coughed, leaning in, and Ryouta felt himself being examined. As far away as he was from the table the judge occupied, it was not a matter of hallucinations. He bit down on his lip, refusing to make a sound as he arched his back, staring up into the ceiling that never ended.

 _At first, knives_ , the voice murmured inside his head. Ryouta could not see them, but they cut through his skin all the same, burrowing into his heart.

It stopped.

_He took me in when nobody wanted to—_

“Takao, please retrieve my glasses.”

 _I’m bleeding_ , Ryouta thought dimly, though there had been nothing actually cutting him when he was allowed to look down. His clothes, though ragged and dried stiff with Aomine’s blood, did not have any sign of fresh blood. The steady drip was not from his chest but elsewhere.

 _Look_.

The bird flew down, depositing said glasses in Midorima’s outstretched hand.

“Can you see anything?”

Takao shook his head.

“If you know what I’m here for, why don’t you just answer me?”

“A review of your deeds is necessary before any judgment can be made,” Midorima said stiffly, bringing the fan closer to his face. “Although we seem to have encountered a problem.”

“That’s strange,” one of the two behind him murmured, and there was a grunt from the other one. Takao hopped down the steps two by two until he was level with Kise’s face, his bright eyes peering into Ryouta’s own.

“Would you like to tell me why?” He asked—not sternly, not coyly, but in a way that took away all refusal.

Ryouta looked at the ground, and his reflection in the marble swam before his eyes.

“I think you know why,” he replied, and his reflection smiled.

 

 

 

_“Who’s there?” Daiki demands at the bushes, the firelight glancing off his eyes. The sky had darkened considerably through their play—_

_But Ryouta feels his heart drop even as the rustle of leaves reveals not an adult but another boy, familiar, one he hadn’t been expecting to see. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Shougo stares at them, neither walking towards nor backing away from the fire. “What are you doing here?”_

_He points an accusing finger towards Ryouta. “Why is he still playing with you?”_

_“Ryouta’s my friend!”_

_“Dai-chan—“_

_“Don’t you know what he is?”The shadows on his face twist and turn, but there’s a terrible edge to Shougo’s voice Ryouta had never heard before. “A monster, that’s what. You’ll all die if you—”_

_“Shut up!”_

_Satsuki screams as Daiki jumps on Shougo, and Ryouta stands there, frozen until he feels a hand pulling him away, towards the woods._

_“Satsucchi, wait—“_

_They stop, finally, deep in a part of the forest he had never been to before. Satsuki’s eyes seem to shimmer in the dim light; it’s just tears, Ryouta wants to think, but her fingers digging into his skin suggest something worse. “Satsucchi, what’s wrong?”_

_“Ki-chan,” she says, her voice quivering, “Do you know why he said that?”_

_“I don’t know,” he whispers. His legs feel like giving out from underneath. “I don’t—he’s_ lying _, Satsucchi! You know that—I don’t want to hurt you. Or Daiki.“_

_“Ki-chan…” Satsuki’s smile had seemed so sad to him. “Of course I know that.”_

 

 

 

She’d laid a finger to his ear then, touching the earring that had been there for as long as he could remember.

Perhaps he had just been lying to himself all these years—every subject change and turned head from the commotion of the village that had crystallized into the unbearably raw emotions that had eaten at him through it all. Of course, it would not justify what he was about to do.

But if the fire had swept that all away, maybe he just wasn’t mature enough to care.

Takao took a step back, as if sensing something. “Hey, Shin-chan…”

“Daiki didn’t do anything wrong,” Ryouta said, slowly. The pain was less now, in light of those memories. “He was just trying to protect me.”

Midorima stared at him, unconvinced. “Do you know how many have come before me saying something similar? _I’d been trying to do the right thing_. Rights and wrongs alike, they are not for you to judge.”

“And why not?”

It was not his voice that had said it, and in that moment every movement in the room seemed to come to a standstill. The swinging of one of his captors’ arms, Takao’s face half-turned towards Midorima, the trail of smoke coming from the incense holders. Ryouta felt as if he had left his body behind, suspended in midair, and for an instant it seemed that way to him: the world was upside-down, and he was the one in the judge’s seat.

_My turn._

A smell of charcoal and ash filled his nostrils, and he started to cough. The grip on his arms tightened, as he opened his mouth to laugh.

“Takao,” Midorima said, in a low, urgent voice, “Go get Akashi. The reinforcements. _Now_.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_It had been early fall, that day when he met the boy in the ruins of the temple._

_Mayuzumi could not remember how long he had been there. He must have been dead for well over a century, long enough for rumors and taboos to spring up around the mountain, and soon enough there was very little in the way of human activity that disturbed him. That had suited him just fine._

_The boy was not from around, he could tell. Neither could he read the warnings of the aged ofuda that kept Mayuzumi from wandering, which he tore as he stepped through the threshold of the abandoned ruin. Mayuzumi watched him make a cursory bow towards where the altar once stood. Then, he turned around. “Hello?”_

_His eyes were sharp, curious and grey. Mayuzumi saw the slightest hint of worry beneath the crease of his brow, and the darkness following behind. It would not be until he met Akashi that he would know this sight to be an unusual trait even among the dead._

_Mayuzumi had no care for humans then; all he wanted was a peace of mind, and they wouldn’t even give him that after death. “You sure you want to stay here?”_

_“Who’s there?”_

_For a moment he considered telling the boy, that the curse following him would eat him alive within two years, if other demons didn’t get to him first. “Don’t you know? There are spirits in this forest.”_

_“The villagers talked about a fox god living the next mountain over,” the boy said. He wasn’t so much a boy anymore, really, Mayuzumi thought—they were perhaps of an age, if Mayuzumi had still been alive. “But you aren’t a fox. Are you?”_

_“You can’t even see me,” Mayuzumi said, a little miffed. The boy jumped back the moment he showed himself, hovering a meter or so above the ground. “There. Boo. Can you leave, please?”_

_Though Mayuzumi had not expected to be so indignantly rebuffed. “I need somewhere to stay the night.”_

_“You aren’t afraid of me?”_

_“You would’ve already killed me if you’d wanted to.”_

_He sat down on the dusty floor, crossing his legs. Mayuzumi stared down at him, and neither budged for the longest while. What the boy said had been true, Mayuzumi would give him that. “…You better not bother me, then. One night.”_

_“You’re a weird ghost, you know.”_

_“Watch it, kid.”_

 

If Mayuzumi had wondered why Nijimura could already see him then, it was not until much later that he realized that it had not been so strange after all. _En_ , after all, had decided this was their lot, as bitter a word as it was on his tongue. The glittering black stone of the Sanzu sat heavy on his palm as he turned it over, again and again, again and again.

It did not belong to him.

 _Your fault_ , the voice screamed inside his head, over and over, until he would suffocate. There had been a fury in that voice that Mayuzumi would remember for a while yet.  _You had him sent away_. Akashi had been right, Akashi had been wrong, Akashi had been…

"He gave you another chance," Mayuzumi found himself whispering to the air. He closed his fingers tight over the stone, and stuffed it back into his robes.

A rapid succession of knocks on his boat causes him to start, and he sat upright in disorientation. Hayama was stamping feet on the dock, so loudly Mayuzumi wanted to knock him straight into the water. “What the hell was that for, Ha—“

“You gotta come,” Hayama chattered, so excited Mayuzumi had to make him repeat his sentence three times. The overenthusiastic raiju had never been one of Mayuzumi's favorite people, but there were worse out there. “We can’t find Akashi, so you—Takao said you need to—“

“Isn’t Akashi already back?”

There was a distant crash, loud enough and large enough that both of them could feel the ground vibrate ever so slightly beneath their feet. One of the planks swayed downwards, touching water. Given another couple centuries, they would perhaps not even have a dock anymore.

But they did not have a couple centuries to lose. Mayuzumi could feel the hairs at the back of his head stand up at the familiar aura, faint but deadly, and it was all he could do to not disappear on the spot. Beside him, Hayama had dropped his borrowed lantern, and it sank into the murky depths of the river.

“Oh,” Mayuzumi said. “ _Fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well at least i didn't take another 2 months this time?? (laughs and then cries)
> 
> i don't know if i should insert nijimura's entire backstory here or if i should just stick it in the drabble dump bc it got really long so like, idk. i think this is all the flashbacks for that i'll put for now.
> 
> edit 7/1 bc i forgot: nebuya and mibuchi are guards of the dead, based off [heibai wuchang](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heibai_Wuchang), which is conceptually similar to ox-head and horse-face in mythology.


	15. Aomine V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine confronts his memories at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) im sorry for the delay in updates oh my god....i was trying to get this in by aomine's birthday but GUESS NOT  
> b) do not attempt this at home

“ _Reincarnation_ ,” Riko repeated once, her voice amplified by the spaciousness of the room. “Are you truly sure?”

Araki pursed her lips. “If you find that strange, I find the fact that whatever _you_ have been doing—“

“Hey,” Hyuuga interjected, “Look, the whole point of it is you can’t _remember_ your past, not with all the precautions in place. Of course, the plague in the west was a hundred years ago, but I’ve never heard of such a—”

“Wait,” Satsuki said quietly, and everyone turned to look at her. Tentatively she laid a hand on the glittering black object sitting on the table. “Nijimura-san, you said Kagami-kun has the other half of this stone?”

“Yes.”

“I saw it,” Kiyoshi said. “He showed it to us yesterday during the festivities. What _is_ this thing, by the way?”

“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember,” Nijimura replied. There was a look in his eye that worried Satsuki; she had seen it before, all those years before. “It was a promise.”

“You mistook Kagami’s coach for his,” she said, gently. “Before you found out about Himuro—”

“He’s _not_ dead!”

The tension seemed almost palpable now, the flickering candlelight signaling the end of another hour. Satsuki glanced worriedly at the half-open side door, where she could see Kise’s golden hair sticking out of the blankets. Time flowed differently in the world below, she knew, but it could be _days_ —

“…Not really.”

His last words came almost a whisper.

Satsuki pulled her hand away, and she saw that it was shaking. Riko was the first to reply, however. “If you mean what I think you mean, I'm afraid there is nothing I can do. But Satsuki—"

“No,” Satsuki found herself saying. She looked at Nijimura in the eye, and found herself wishing that she had been able to talk Daiki out of this mess. Even then, she suspected, it might not have meant anything to the gods after all. “I'm not sending anyone else down there. You're _alive_ , Nijimura-san. _Human_. Don't you think that's worth something?"

"I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," she continued despite herself, and Riko held on to her arm. In the next room the chanting continued, and incense filled the air with sweetness. "I'm sorry, not after...not after Ki-chan."

It was some time before Nijimura spoke again, wryly this time. "I assure you, it is not my intention to die again. Though perhaps I have him to thank, at least."

Satsuki tilted her head, confused. "What for? You've never met."

"For bringing me to Tatsuya in the first place."

 

* * *

 

Every step Daiki took seemed to make his body ache, though whether it was from the troubles they had met or the fatigue from staying too long in this place he wasn’t sure.

Kasamatsu’s lantern swayed in the swirling mist, a beacon of light among the grey-black bamboo, the dead silence unnerving. He stepped over a pile of rocks and frowned. “What’s that smell?”

Kasamatsu did not bother to look back as he responded. “Be quiet.”

It was not the sickly sweet fragrance of the spider-lilies, left behind by the water. Nor the incense smoke that they said fed gods and ghosts alike. But it was familiar, yes—vaguely medicinal and bitter in his throat.

_A cry from long ago…_

Satsuki’s warnings lurked at the back of his mind even now, deeper and deeper into the forest they walked. Something was amiss even in the land of the dead. Even more telling than the strange smell was the motion of the lantern and its master, the light moving irregularly as footsteps slackened, and quickly Daiki found himself catching up to the guide’s pace. No, there _was_ something about this he had known before.

“Hey,” he said, uncertainly. The echo in the trees made him shiver, stumble over a root. “ _Hey_ , are you listening to me?”

 _Listen to me_ , the forest whispered. This time, Kasamatsu looked back at him. “Unless it’s something of importance, I don’t want to hear it.”

His voice was on edge, and there was a wary look to his eye that told Daiki it wasn’t so simple as the forest being the way it was. The creepy voices in the air between them notwithstanding, he was already starting to feel a numbing sensation, a crawling cold yet not of the actual temperature in this place. It seemed to be less affecting of his being here, however, but very much so for the various spirits that resided in this land of the dead.

Daiki pursed his lips. “Look, I know you think this is stupid, but I’m…I’m doing this for a reason, okay? So maybe if you—“

A loud sound up ahead cut him off—the falling of a large tree, maybe, or an explosion. The ground trembled, if only for a moment.

The lantern swayed, and dropped to the ground.

“Hey!”

 _This wasn’t supposed to happen_ , was the only thing that flashed thought Daiki’s head as he lurched forward, instinctively, to catch Kasamatsu as he fell.

 

 

 

I heard from the Haizaki boy _, he remembers the adults saying, angrily, pacing around the house after dark. It was not so long ago this happened, and if he were to say so Daiki would say he was surprised it took this long._ Does nothing I tell you stick to your head?

There’s nothing wrong with Ryouta _, he says, every syllable a piercing scream in his heart._

_His father had yelled at him then, and it quickly descended into a blur he doesn’t want to remember. The argument would have gone on long into the night if he hadn’t left first, storming out the house. Satsuki doesn’t follow him this time; the admonishments for her are worse, but it isn’t until he reaches the steps of the shrine before he starts feeling the rustle of guilt underneath for leaving her there._

_By all accounts, he should’ve been coming here more and more through the years; the weathered red poles of the torii remained freshly painted in his memory as he stepped over the threshold. Nobody had bothered to follow him; the shrine was empty, bells tinkling in the distance. Ryouta had never stepped foot in here, though his house is closer to this place than any other nominally included in the village._

_He crosses his arms behind his head as he walks through the halls, mind wandering. That had never sat well with Satsuki; Ryouta wasn’t made for living out there alone. None of his family deserved those rumors—_

_Daiki pauses in front of the row of tablets, noticing a small door to his right, closed tight. He’d rarely ventured to this part of the shrine before, as his lessons took place elsewhere. Satsuki was the one who spent her day counting out the incense and divination charts, strengthening the ofuda fluttering in the courtyard, but he something from the layer of dust gathering at the base of the door tells him that this is not something she would’ve touched._

_So of course he opens it._

_The plume of dust that billows out throws Daiki into a coughing fit right away as he stumbles backward, nearly knocking several tablets onto the ground. A tingling sensation lingers at his fingertips as he opens his eyes once more, approaching the door warily. That was strange—of course sacred objects would abound even in a village shrine like this, but it does not feel like any magic he had come in contact with before. Though, he thinks, blinking at the dull green, dusty-looking piece of rock inside, it rather reminds him of—_

 

 

_“Aomine?”_

“—?!”

That _was_ the thing, he realized as he came to, sitting next to Kasamatsu on the cold ground. _He'd seen it before_. Daiki turned to look at the guide, disoriented. “Kasamatsu?”

Kasamatsu, still slumped over, did not respond. Daiki had never seen a spirit react to anything in this way before, but more worrying was the fact that he, too, had his mind wander somewhere else, though no time at all seemed to have passed. There was an unmistakable scent of acridity in the air now, faint but mixed in with the medicinal smell that had been present once they stepped in here.

“Hey, you can’t…you can’t just faint on me like this,” he muttered, more to himself than anything as he tried to shake the guide awake. It was to no avail; though shallow breathing told Daiki that Kasamatsu was still—would spirits have the need to breathe, actually? He shook the stray thought from his mind, loosening his grip on the other’s arms.

At least the lantern hadn’t gone out. That, which surprisingly didn’t burn or maim him in any detectable fashion, he picked up. Upon closer inspection, Daiki found, there was no wick in the flames, but a tiny sliver of rock. He brought it to his face, and its warmth felt familiar. A flicker of emotion stirred inside him, resonating with the remnants of that sound, the crash…

_Ryouta?_

“Hey, what are you doing here? Mayuzumi-san, there’s some guy—”

There were footsteps, loud and quick, but Daiki could not see anyone in the trees. “Who’s there?”

“Kasamatsu? Oi! What the hell did you do to him?”

“I didn’t—”

Daiki took a step forward towards the source of the voice, but looming out of the mist was none other than Mayuzumi, whose face seemed all sorts of contorted in the flickering light. He looked down at Kasamatsu wordlessly.

“I didn’t do anything,” Daiki repeated, less convicted now. “He just, the crash…”

_“Don’t you feel it?”_

Bitter, like the taste in the air. He watched unmoving as the voices faded into the background, Mayuzumi’s face starting to blend into the mist once more. Kasamatsu, he realized, was nowhere to be found now.

Daiki turned.

_“The lantern. Look in the lantern, if you want your answers.”_

And then Daiki was alone, and his head started to throb.

 

 

 

_Perhaps because they feared it, the adults rarely talked about what happened that day all too long ago, the plague and fire in the valley. It is not unusual that the ill were cast out of the village proper, Daiki knew. But Ryouta…_

_He knows in the back of his mind that this had become little more than an open secret, a festering one that threatened to spill over soon. It was only his family’s name that protects him, as much as he disparages the notion that that had ever been so._

We’re leaving _, he says one day, his hands weaving through Ryouta’s hair._ Let’s go somewhere else.

Where? _Ryouta says. He raises a hand to Daiki’s, brushing against his ear. There is something triumphant in his eyes that, when Daiki finally realizes it is there, is too late for him to ask. And then immediately after,_ Yes _._

_Where?_

_Daiki takes him close, but suddenly he is grabbing at nothing but smoke, the smell of fire and fear building around him._

_Where am I?_

_Ryouta?_

 

Ryouta?

 

_He hears screaming behind him, the crash of a fallen tree. No plague in the history books, as little as he has read of them, had ever sounded like this. The burning orange flames beckon at him as he runs from the houses, groaning and creaking. Beyond that, beyond the screams of the people, he hears an unearthly howl._

_The shrine. The shrine is always safe, he remembers the adults saying, and it is there Daiki runs to, too scared to see that the enchantments had been broken as he dashes under the roof, heart thundering inside his chest. Another crash, closer this time, prompts him to scramble to the innermost corner he could find. All the attendants seemed to have fled, or were out there fighting the flames—or whatever is causing it._

_As he pokes his head into the dusty cupboard he’d discovered, the whole building shook, sending dust and pieces of wood raining down on him. Then something crashes through the narrow door, sending Daiki knocking his head against the hard wood. Tears instantly well in his eyes as he backs away from the doorframe, coughing, but he is not at all prepared for the scene before him as he cracks an eye open to see what had happened._

_He knows it is a fox from the picture-books Satsuki has, filled with stories of tricksters in the woods. This one is golden, its fur matted with blood and dirt, its back shot full of arrows._

_The creature cracks open an eye, staring up at him._

_“You’re hurt,” Daiki blurts out, because he does not know what else to say. He can feel the vibrations in the air, the anger and fear, but more importantly— “You’re a god.”_

_It opens both golden eyes then, the smile on its face a fierce grimace. “I’ve not heard anyone say that in a long time, boy. What if I decide to eat you?”_

_“I’m not afraid of you,” Daiki says. He isn’t so sure anymore, but the shouting outside catches his attention. “You can’t eat me if you’re hurt. They’re gonna—”_

_He watches in horror as the fox spasms, kicking its hind legs into the table behind and spilling the candles onto the ground. It is then Daiki sees the longest arrow protruding out of its neck as it thrashes around; the arrowhead is glowing, and he can see the green of it underneath. “H-hey! Stop moving!”_

_Far away, he thinks he hears Satsuki yelling his name. Daiki moves forward as the fox’s movements slow, hesitating as it almost swipes at his head, and pulls hard on the shaft. He gasps as it burns his hand, dropping it immediately. Warm blood gushes out of the wound, but the flow slows before it reaches the ground. The fox does not move._

_“Hey! Are you…are you still there?”_

_He can hear familiar voices now, the adults closing in near the torii. Daiki shakes the fox. “Hey! If you don’t go, they’ll really kill you! There’s a door in the back, it opens to the forest—”_

_“Why did you help me?”_

_“Because—“ Daiki frowns, not understanding. He wipes at his eyes. ”I’m gonna be the best onmyouji around when I grow up! I can’t just let you die…”_

_The fox laughs, struggling to stand. “Big words for a little boy. You remind me of someone I used to know...”_

_Daiki reaches for it then, but falls back on his bottom as dust flies into his face from a sudden wind. His head hits the door again, and this time there is nothing but the shouts of his father shaking him, Satsuki’s arms around his back, and a strange man, a man so familiar now it seemed, the pensive frown across his face and the bow he held crashing through all the layers of his memory to become, to become…_

 

 

 

“Jade. It was the jade. Wasn’t it?“

Ryouta’s earring, the _thing_ inside the shrine—Kagami’s necklace even, if only Daiki knew what the hell that had to do with him. The lantern-light illuminating the path seemed terrifying now, but it was not the light that he paid attention to as he ran through the trees, the laugh from long ago still ringing in his ears. The jade of the underworld that lit its lanterns and scattered demons, it all came down to the spirits that had unbeknownst to him already haunted his past.

“Why were you there?” he yelled, swinging the lantern in front of him. “Kasamatsu, why the _fuck_ —“

It was not Ryouta he was chasing anymore but the fox, its golden tail swishing past the bend; but in the dying light he saw their shadows overlap, and could not tell which was which. It was like this then, he thought, the ache in his legs and body and head amplifying with every step; he _had_ known it for all these years, always. That was what this place did; the memories he had thrown to the back of his mind for so long all came flooding in, and he laughed as he sped past the bamboo, tears now rolling freely down his face.

He ran, but to where, he did not know.

The path winded down what seemed like a hill into a mist even thicker than before, so thick it seemed to seize him by the throat, forcing the air out of him. Of course, perhaps he would go out that way’ this was not a place he was meant to be, alone.

A branch lashed out at his face, drawing blood, as he stumbled and regained his balance. They had told him all those years ago, didn’t they, _don’t go near that house, those ruins at the edge of the road. Don’t go near that boy._ And when had he truly listened?

All of those voices and more he could hear now, following him in the wind. It was no use trying to shake himself from them, he thought, as he leaps over a rock, the sound of flowing water clearer than ever in his ear. There was only one thing he wanted now. The court of the dead, floating up from the picture-books in the recesses of his mind—

Then, a sharp crack.

_“Aomine!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK we're back to the beginning also no more long ass flashbacks for aokise anymore bc its all up here now. im dying help


	16. the boy without a name

He was born within a shroud.

 

That was why he had such a little shadow, the villagers said. His mother had suckled him for thirty days and thirty nights below ground, until a dream had brought his father running to the little graveyard next to the hills. The coffin had been dug up by incredulous helpers, and when the lid was lifted they saw a boy, sitting quiet in his mother’s lap.

 

A learned doctor would say this was impossible that a dead mother could give birth to a live child. A priest would say it was a sign from god. A village chief would say it was a curse. All three would shun the child.

 

It didn’t matter to him.

 

It was what he had to live with, and he did.

 

His father fished for a living. It was hard work, a single parent raising a boy whose presence seemed to fade with every passing day. He did not speak unless spoken to, and kept far from the other children. Not that anyone wanted to speak or play with him to begin with. He did not mind, though; there were books.

 

An aging scholar, a hermit living at the edge of the village, took pity on him. The scholar taught him how to sound the strokes on a page, how to pen the strokes himself, and finally to understand that the world was unfair by passing away when the boy was eight.

 

The boy kept the books, and he learned.

 

His father did not understand books more than he understood his son, but he loved the boy nonetheless. The village was situated on an estuary, looking out to the _uchi-umi_ ; in later years, it would become known as the Edo Bay. His village was neither poor nor rich, and was just like any of the numerous such villages that dotted the bay. The only real schools to learn from, after his books, were the land and the sea.

 

At nine he started going to sea with his father, who taught him to observe the way the wind blew, the direction of the waves. The boy learned the names of the sea and the ship and the tools of the trade. While he was not strong enough to pull the lines, he learned to maneuver paths between the parting of the waves and to read the patterns of the sky.

 

(And he was far from lonely—the spirits had started to notice him as he grew, and so did the creatures of the sea. Sometimes the household objects would move on their own, finishing his chores far earlier than he could have done alone. Ningyo would break surface and listen to him recite poetry when the seas were calm and he was alone. The foxes in the woods whispered to him stories about the bygone days, when gods walked the earth. He was human, but in a way that was acceptable to the beings that walked the other world.

 

He had the sight that was innate to his kind of people, and the ferrymen who rowed ashore at night they would say their greetings if he was awake and looking out his window. As if he were an old friend. And they were, in a way, these beings that most would not talk to nor see.)

 

When he was twelve a new family moved to his village. They came from Heian-kyo, officials who would spend a year to survey their prefectures. The boy, hidden behind the little shack he lived in, was in awe at the servants and horses, the fine clothes of the Lord Akiwara and his son with hair like flames.

 

The village welcomed them for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day the boy sneaked out from line-basting to see the mansion. It was noon, he reasoned, and everyone else would be at home. He had asked the spirits to keep his father busy, today.

 

“H-hey! Where did you come from…?! You scared me!”

 

“Ah…?” He had run straight into the Akiwara boy, who had seemingly jumped a few feet into the air when he whipped around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you noticed me…”

 

“Eh, I mean, I didn’t really…I was sneaking out from lessons again and—wait, you won’t tell them, will you?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Great!” Akiwara turned in the direction of the path leading down to the docks. “It’s my first time being near the sea. I can already smell it, from here…”

 

It was the first time someone his own age and human had talked to the boy without shying away. A tinge of warmth came to his cheeks, and he said, quietly but firmly, “I can take you there.”

 

“Really? That’d be awesome!”

 

Akiwara smiled at him, and all he saw was the light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last mini-chapter before i start dying @ midterms  
>  ~~if it's not obvious/if you don't remember who akiwara is, check the character bible~~
> 
> (everything after kagami's next chapter will start happening in real time...anyway.)


	17. Kagami V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko and Kagami walk the path as memories start pouring in; meanwhile, the court is in a state of vast disarray as the spirits discuss how to contain the fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, holy moly it's been a while - apologies for the sudden disappearance from this fic, i'd hit a pretty major block a while back because the original ending i envisioned was...not going to work, so i had to work on that. but now that it's winter vacation for me i had some time to sit down and finish this chapter, so...! 
> 
> though i'm still unsure of how this chapter turned out writing-wise, i hope it clears up some more mysteries from the previous chapters for y'all.

Taiga had walked barely a dozen steps into the fog when Kuroko vanished.

“…Kuroko?”

“I’m right here, Kagami-kun.”

“Ack! Don’t…” Though he frowned as he looked down, Taiga nevertheless felt a measure of relief that he hadn’t been abandoned in this place. He could barely see beyond a few feet of the smooth stone that disappeared into the mist, but it was clear the path stretched far into the woods of the dead.

Too far.

Kuroko spoke up again, and this time his voice seemed to resonate with the air around them. “Do you remember what I asked you earlier, Kagami-kun?”

_What did you see when you passed out?_

“I saw you,” Taiga said bluntly. “But it was only a dream. Something about swimming. Why are you asking me these questions?”

 _Shouldn’t I be the one asking?_ Yet Kuroko seemed to have already figured out the best line of recourse, that was, how to cut in before Taiga could get any of _his_ questions out. He nearly stumbled over one of the rocks, and a hand, small but strong, shot out to catch him. “Be careful. The path changes each time someone new walks upon it.”

The frayed edges of the string around his wrist touched Taiga’s skin for a fraction of a second, and he _saw_

 

 

 

_“Don’t go out too far! It can be dangerous—“_

_The sky was blue, blue, blue. He felt the water warm on his skin, the sun in his eyes. Around him, there was nothing but water and Kuroko, sitting on a small raft, his pale legs dangling there. They had not known each other long, but it had seemed like forever._

_He wanted this moment to last forever._

_“Relax, Kuroko, I’ll be fine!”_

_Then he saw the clouds gathering, high above._

 

 

 

“Kagami-kun? Are you ill?“

Taiga felt Kuroko’s arm slip away from his, and turned around to grab it again. Startled, Kuroko looked up at him with wide blue eyes. _No, it wasn’t a dream_.

“Have we met somewhere before?”

 

 

 

_Kuroko was calling for him again, but this time Taiga could barely hear his words over the churning of the waves, so sudden and hard had the weather changed. The wind started to pick up above him, and he turned towards shore._

_“I’m coming in!”_

 

 

 

“You almost drowned, in a past life,” Kuroko said. The scent of the _higanbana_ were gone, replaced by something else, bitter almost to the taste. Taiga felt his heart beating very slowly, and wondered if he were, in all actuality, dying. “There was a storm—”

 

 

 

_He kicked hard, moving through the water, but it was hard to outrun a storm, or the gods. Whichever one it was that day, luck was not on his side._

_Taiga had never been afraid of the water before, but the quick succession of events in the moment had overwhelmed him, so much so that when the first mouthful of salt water slid down his throat he had barely the time to process it before the wave was upon him._

 

 

 

“There was a storm,” Taiga echoed, his tongue dry. He could barely see Kuroko anymore, so thick had the mist become. “I swam for shore.”

“I didn’t get there in time.”

 

 

 

_He was drowning._

_He remembers the stories Kuroko told him on the way: there were ningyo in the seas, tengu in the skies, and man plowing the land. But Taiga could not see anything in the deep dark water that had him whole. Every inch of his skin screamed for air as he floundered in the depths, where he could see no fish nor mermaid, not even a tendril of seaweed. His lungs cried for relief, and the burning pain only became more real in his panic._

_Then, in the tumbling fray, before his eyes closed, he heard a splash._

 

 

 

“You tried to come after me, didn’t you?“

“Kagami-kun…”

“Why?”

He felt Kuroko flinch beneath his grasp; it would not have mattered so much, Taiga decided, if he’d felt cold and clammy and _dead_ , but he didn’t. As little as Kuroko’s presence was, as ghostly as he came and went, it was real flesh Taiga felt beneath his fingers, the smoothness interrupted with bumps from old scars.

It was only after a moment that Kuroko finally looked back at him again, and this time he did not try to pull away. “Are you angry?”

Taiga shook his head. “I mean, how the hell do I know what I’m supposed to feel right now? This was the all in the past, isn’t it? So then, when…when did all of this happen?”

Kuroko’s voice is steady as he pulls himself closer. “Five hundred years ago.”

 

 

 

_The ocean had carried him to shore, he’d thought._

_But when he opened his eyes, he was alone: there was no trace of Kuroko anywhere on the beach, save for the footprints in the sand leading back to the shoddy path down towards the village. He’d gone back for help, Taiga realized, his heart still pounding, the saltwater still stinging his eyes._

_(In that life, he never touched the sea again.)_

_He’d risen, shaken as he had never been before, and traced those footsteps back. The little shack near the edge of the village was where Kuroko lived, he knew, and yet…_

_“You must be mistaken,” the man had told him, frowning. “I have no son.”_

 

 

 

“You… _five hundred years?_ ”

Kuroko averted his eyes, looking into the deep forest before them. “I did not know if I would see you again.”

“But why?”

Taiga stopped moving.

“Why what?”

“Why did you wait? That’s what you meant, right?” He stared at Kuroko, at his eyes that shone through the mist; it was the only thing he could focus on, now, other than the warmth, however faint, beneath his fingers. “You’re not really dead.”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Don’t you think I should have the right to know if I’m being shown all these fucking things?”

He hadn’t meant to yell, not really, but the startled look on Kuroko’s face told him only one thing: that he hadn’t been expecting their meeting to turn out this way. Taiga let go of Kuroko’s hand. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but—you can’t just leave me in the dark like this.“

Kuroko was silent. Then, after a while, after Taiga shuddered as the wind picked up around them, he looked aside. “To say the least, I made a pact, to serve here until I could meet you again. You would say it was foolish—”

“What? Of course it’s stupid! I…did I…”

 _Did I mean that much to you, back then?_ Through the fragments of memory Taiga remembered the lonesome look on his face, the fire that had been lit in his eyes once Taiga had started talking, yammering on and on about something or another. The village had not been a prosperous one, its only shrine dilapidated and rumored to be haunted, and there had been such a strange feeling that he’d held moving there.

 _I have no son._ The words of the old man, the strange looks on the villagers’ faces, swam before his eyes. Kuroko had had no friends back then, Taiga surmised, and the conclusion dawned on him in the form of a hard lump in his throat.

Kuroko was talking again, he realized.

“—In any case, you wanted to see Himuro-san. I can take you to him, but—”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I was merely suggesting to do what you wanted me to do for you in the first place.”

Taiga pursed his lips, but saw the shadow pass through Kuroko’s wide blue eyes: maybe it would be better talking about this after, he thought, though soon he would find it impossible to keep thinking of such.

There was a crack of twigs coming from not far away, and Taiga heard footsteps. Kuroko turned towards the sound, his mouth opening slightly in surprise; it was completely dark up ahead, where the path vanished into nothing. “What the hell was that?”

“I, I don’t know—”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t you live here?”

“Ferrymen do not walk this path often,” Kuroko said, his voice on edge. “Spirits who walk the forest of the dead will only see the paths they are meant to walk, and not any other. Even if Aomine-kun and Kasamatsu-san are in here, we should not be able to see or hear them.”

Taiga reached up to touch the jade hanging from his neck, feeling it pulse beneath his fingers. It was not cold nor warm, which told him nothing as far as he was concerned. Kuroko noticed him doing so, and hesitantly tugged at his sleeve. “We need to go.“

“But what if—what if we hear it again?“

“Well,” Kuroko replied, “We will have to deal with it.”

 

 

 

“What the ever-loving _fuck_ ,” Miyaji yelled as Mayuzumi materialized next to him. “You! Where the hell were you—“

“I was busy,” Mayuzumi snapped, elbowing him aside. Takao was gesturing animatedly to one of the other guards, and it was him he zoned in on. “Hayama said you couldn’t find Akashi, the gates—“

Takao’s forehead was creased with worry as he turned towards him, a sight both unsuited to his face and terrifying. The gates behind them were locked shut, but Mayuzumi could still see the physical strain causing it to creak and groan. Someone was moaning, far away, but he couldn’t fell what it was anymore. “Oh, we have it contained right now, just _barely_ , but Shin-chan…I don’t know! I can’t find Akashi, everywhere I’ve looked, I’ve even asked Murasakibara, but he’s tied up right now—“

“There’s only one place,” Hayama said suddenly, his eyes wide with excitement, or perhaps it was fear, “You know, don’t you think maybe he’s with Himuro—“

There was another roar, and the gates shuddered as they all took another step backwards. Mayuzumi licked his lips, a cold chill in his spine, wondering when the last time was that he’d felt this way before.

“I’m not going there.”

“Do you want hell to implode?” Miyaji said incredulously, grabbing his shoulders. “Do you want _us_ to cease existing? Actually, don’t answer that question.”

“Mayuzumi,” Takao began, his tone cautious, “Did you see Kasamatsu on your way here? The people he’s bringing—”

“They’re useless,” Mayuzumi replied, roughly shaking off the other guard’s grip. “What can humans do?”

“You know what they can do, Mayuzumi,” came Kasamatsu’s weary voice, from behind. It was directed at Mayuzumi, but he only had eyes for the gate and the smouldering courthouse. “You have not forgotten what happened to that boy from a century ago, have you? What happened to Kuroko”

“And maybe if you hadn’t tried to intervene with the fox,” Mayuzumi snapped despite himself, “We wouldn’t be having this argument right now, would we? There wouldn’t be a blasted demon trying to kill us, and we’d all be at our godforsaken posts until the universe or Akashi or whoever decides it’s time for—“

The forest shook violently, groaning, cutting him off. Hayama let out a little yelp as a blur came crashing out of the undergrowth, stumbling, then falling face-first onto the path. “W-what the hell is that?”

Takao glanced at Kasamatsu, who was adamantly looking away, and then at the rest of the group. “Now _that_ is someone we need.”

 

 

 

“What were you going to say about Tatsuya?”

“Hm?”

“You said something… _but_ …at the end of your sentence.”

“Ah.”

It was completely dark around them now, and so despite himself Taiga had taken up Kuroko’s hand again, letting the small ferryman lead the way. The way Kuroko had carefully intoned the word made him nervous. “Himuro-san never… _died_ , Kagami-kun. He…I suppose you can say it was a journey he had to take. But I think, when we see him, he should be the one to tell you about it.”

Taiga frowned. “But…a journey, if he is here too, then…something had to have happened in Nagasaki, right? But Alex didn’t tell me anything.”

“Alex?”

“My teacher,” Taiga said. “Mine and Tatsuya’s. She’s…”

 _Crack_.

“Kagami-kun, please don’t make any sudden movements.”

“I-it’s not like I can run in the dark.“

It was infinitely closer to them this time than the last, almost frenzied, the sound of running. Taiga clutched at the stone on his chest, shutting his eyes as Kuroko’s footsteps quickened. It would be no use opening them, anyway—

Whatever it was, the aura was _familiar_ —

“…Aomine!”

“That’s impossible,” Kuroko whispered, but he too started to slow. “It…it is Aomine-kun, I think, but how is he here? He can’t be.”

“Listen.”

There was a sound of running water, faint but noticeable, to the left of them. It was not the Sanzu—the wide expanse of the river of the dead would flow in an infinitely different way, at least from what Taiga had experienced so far. It was more like a stream, Taiga decided, as they approached cautiously. Aomine’s aura had faded yet again, the echo of footsteps dwindling. From what he had seen so far, though he felt queasy, Taiga could assume that the gods made mistakes after all.

Kuroko stopped, and his voice was laced with worry. “Wait.”

“What?”

“I can’t…I can’t see anything anymore.”

“What—“ Taiga began, and then he felt the ground slip away beneath him.

“Kagami-kun!”

 

 

 

The second he hit the cold, cold water, Taiga felt the panic come up to his throat, the chill overlapping with the roar of the sea. It was no sea he’d fallen into, perhaps, but that did not stop him from freezing in place. The _whoosh_ of water over his face was painful for a moment, and then something blindingly bright forced his eyes open again.

_The pendant._

Taiga swam towards the surface, but there was no surface; instead, through the glassy water, he was horrified to see feet moving above him. _Kuroko_ , he tried to yell, the water entering his lungs as he did so. It did not seem to hurt, to his surprise, as he felt the liquid somehow drain out of him again. Slowly he looked down at his chest, where the pendant glowed a bright green, and then he heard—

“Kagami-kun? Are you down there?”

The voice was muffled, but it was unmistakably Kuroko.

“I’m—I’m down here,” he said, tentatively. His limbs, Taiga discovered, moved about as if they were in water, but it was water that flowed almost through him. Perhaps that was what it did, as he remembered suddenly, when it was the soul instead of a body immersed in this water. And what exactly was this water doing here…?

“Kagami-kun, I can see your light.”

“You can?”

“I can’t seem to touch you, though.” Kuroko’s voice sounded thoughtful, though Taiga could not see his face. “But I think I can see—I can see a part of the path now.”

Taiga gulped, but forced himself to stay still. “Then—is it telling me to swim?”

Images of the sea flashed before him, once, twice, and he shook his head quickly, refusing to entertain those thoughts. _That was then_ , Taiga thought, as he started forward hesitantly. He had never been afraid of the water before, until a few moments ago. I _don’t know what the hell is going on, but this is the only thing I can do now._

The river—if it was a river—was dark, and despite the bright lights and seemingly clear water there was nothing to see. Kuroko’s feet made little noise above him, and they moved slowly as he navigated, or more accurately fumbled, through the water. If he looked down, he could not even see the mud beneath his feet, as if the water stretched down miles to where no light would ever pierce. But he threw the thought out of his head as soon as he could; the water seemed to move faster now, more urgent, and the restlessness in being made to go with the flow was getting to him.

_Where the hell am I?_

_I have never been here either,_ Kuroko said, the eerie echo of his voice traveling through the water. _Except, this path…now that I see it…_

Then, unexpectedly, Taiga rammed into something.

“?!”

“Kagami-kun, up here!”

With a push that came out of nowhere Taiga resurfaced, gasping as the cold air hit him full force. Whatever the pressure had been that’d kept him from coming up was gone now, replaced by something that looked like dark stone jutting out from the shore, inches away from his face. A pale hand swooped past his face, and he yelped only to feel it clamp down on his face. Kuroko shook his head. _It’s only me._

“D-don’t do that,” Taiga said, shivering as he climbed ashore, helped by the ferryman. The glow in his chest was softer now, showing only enough light for them to see the end of the path, but that was all they needed. Beside him, he felt Kuroko still.

The structure loomed above them, high into the mist where they could not see. Though Taiga thought it was entirely black at first, upon closer inspection of the walls he found it to be scorch marks, and beneath it red stone. He could not see how wide the building stretched, but as he turned back he saw the stream illuminated clearly now, unnaturally narrow, running parallel to the path Kuroko had taken. Surely, it had not been so small when he was underwater…

“What…is this place?”

“It is the place the dead go after they are judged,” Kuroko murmured. He indicated to the ground beside them with his feet, and it was only then Taiga saw not only their path but many paths, all converging towards the door. Some smooth, some rough stone, some of substances Taiga was not sure he wanted to know... “Every one walks a different path here, and every one walks a different path out. Before then, the Overseer of Suffering will see that their sentences are carried out in accordance with the verdict.”

“But…” Taiga stalled. “Why would there be a path from the forest leading here directly? Shouldn’t the verdict be  _passed_ first?”

Kuroko did not answer him, but instead pushed open the door, which seemed at first glance tiny for the vastness of the building.

“W-wait, what are you doing? We aren’t dead, shouldn’t we be—”

“You said you wanted to see your brother, did you not?”

“So he _is_ dead?”

“No,” Kuroko said, quieter than ever. Their footsteps echoed throughout the vast hallway, towards the ceiling which Taiga could not see. “I’m afraid not.”

The hallway was dark and empty, save for the lit space at the very end of it. A soft echo of their footsteps bounced off the walls, intermingling with what seemed to Taiga to be the sloshing around of water—and voices, whispers that followed them down the emptiness. He could not see any other doors or rooms along the way, nor pillars or artwork adorning the surfaces; devoid of anything, it seemed more like the listless sort of _Yomi_ he’d heard in tales. _Maybe_ , he thought as they approached, _in the end, all these stories are true_.

At the end of the hall was another door, even smaller than the entrance; Taiga was not sure if he would even fit inside. _A prison?_ He wondered in apprehension, as Kuroko rapped on the door four times in quick succession. _Is Tatsuya imprisoned? Did he offend the gods somehow—_

The door swung open, and this time he recognized the smell that hit them immediately: fragrant incense of the kind used in the imperial city, and underneath it the strange, bitter scent inside the forest. A sharp jolt at his elbow; he looked down at Kuroko, who’d elbowed him. _Despite everything, you should still bow before you enter_.

 _What do you mean?_ But he did so all the same, as he realized they were looking into a large room of the kind that reminded him of home, of…

 _It's cold_. He shivered; it was a different cold from the forest, a bone-biting sort that came and went like a phantom, pricking his skin even as he found a way to fit himself into the room. Kuroko was already in front of him, his footsteps noiseless. There was a dripping sound; beads of water slid down the petals of the single blue lotus in the pond next to his feet, which took up an entire corner of the room. It occurred to him, bizarrely, that the scent was coming from the flower—it seemed impossible for such a small thing to perfume a place so far removed as the forest, but what did Taiga know about anything anymore? In front of them, a vast tapestry that took up the entirety of the wall: men with their faces scrunched up in pain as they scaled mountains of knives, scholars being buried up to their heads, their tongues blue and lolling out—the forty-nine tortures written in the books, and more, and more…

(The sea came back to him then, biting, stinging his eyes, and it was then Taiga remembered what he had not thought to ask: what sort of deal had Kuroko struck, and with whom?)

But the thought faded sharply once more, as he realized with a jolt in his heart what he was looking at. A man, sitting before the tapestry, his long robes heavy and in muted coloring, unlike the light airiness of the garb of the ferrymen, but it was clear he was no prisoner. The man's back was towards them, but Taiga would recognize that person anywhere, all the same.

“What is it, Kuroko? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I… _what_ —”

“Himuro-san,” Kuroko said, as the man started to turn around, his eyes widening. “I’ve brought a guest for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if people are worried this is the first/last time kuroko and kagami are talking about their Problem(tm) it isn't, i just wanted to get some points out there before the rest of the plot kicked in lmao,,)


End file.
